The Best Made Plans
by MorwennaTheWicked
Summary: Two years after Nigel Cousland married Queen Anora, their union still has not produced an heir, threatening civil war over succession to the throne. At the same time, rumors of a plot in Orlais to reclaim Fereldan also threaten the fragile peace. But the prince-consort has a plan.
1. In Service to the Queen

The Best Made Plans

Disclaimer: Most of the characters in this story are owned by Bioware and not me, except for this incarnation of the Hero of Ferelden.

Nigel Cousland observed that his brother had lost none of his directness as Fergus met his gray eyes and asked, "Do you love your wife, little brother?"

Nigel merely shrugged slightly and picked at a piece of lint on the front of his spotless tunic, emblazoned with the Gray Warden insignia that marked him as Warden Commander of Ferelden. "What's love to do with anything? Marrying Anora was a merely a means to ending the civil war so we could focus on the Blight, besides sparing my friend Alistair from being forced to assume a crown everyone but Eamon knew he was ill-suited for. But I have grown...fond of her, more than I had ever thought possible. And that is at the heart of our dilemma."

Fergus nodded sympathetically. "Fair enough. Marriages between noble families are rarely made for love and most often made for money or political alliances, though we must still strive to make a success of them. It's strange, isn't it, to think that you yourself came very close to marrying Delilah Howe."

Nigel chuckled softly and shook his head. "Not that close, thank the Maker. Ah, Delilah...Actually, it was hate at first sight, I think. But she's not really so bad now that I've gotten to know her. She and Nat are nothing like their father. Still, I can't see myself married to her. She's perfectly happy living as a shopkeeper's wife in a flat over their store. I don't think our union would have been a success, unlike yours." Fergus's marriage had been tentatively arranged when he and his wife were children, but proceeded only with the approval of both of them once they came of age, and Nigel knew they had grown to care for one another deeply during their too-brief time together.

Fergus frowned as his brother strayed from the subject. "Do you love this other woman then? Is that it?" He observed that his brother didn't meet his eyes and instead looked across the room.

Nigel got up and crossed the room to look out the window across the city of Highever. He hated being in this room, where he was haunted by the image of his young nephew's blood and brains spilled out on the slate floor. It had been scrubbed clean by the elven servants of the Howe usurper, but he swore he could still see the stain. How could anyone attack a child? It was inhuman, something he expected of mindless darkspawn, but not of his own kind. More than two years later, he found it easier to talk about the horror of the battle of Ostegar than that night. He had described what happened in the broadest of terms to spare his brother as well as himself having to relive it. But Fergus was still coming to terms with becoming the Teyrn much sooner than he had ever expected, and he hadn't felt right taking over his parents' private apartments. So he settled back in to his own.

Nigel turned to look back at his brother, forcing a jaunty smile to chase away the dark thoughts. "Again, does it matter? Don't look at me like that. I'm not sure I even know what love is. Lust yes, but love...It is true I have been in love many times in my life, at least for a day or two. The first was that elven kitchen girl, Darlea."

Fergus poured them a glass of wine, always having been too caught up in his responsibility as the heir of Highever to have wasted much time chasing tavern wenches or dallying with the household staff. He handed his brother a goblet, part of a set sent from Dragon's Peak as a gift for his betrothal to Bann Alfstanna, whom he had fallen in love with as she helped him drive Howe's supporters from Highever. "I remember her. You were very young then, barely out of Nan's supervision. I'm surprised you even remember her name."

He took the goblet and sipped the sweet wine. "How could I forget? I was quite smitten with her until she left suddenly for Denerim wearing a new dress and carrying a bulging purse, leaving me quite heartbroken for a week or two. I suspect our parents had everything to do with it. Rumors were she had a bulging belly too when she was spotted there a few months later. No, I remember all my loves, unless we didn't bother with the formality of exchanging names."

Fergus considered the man his little brother had become. Before Howe's treachery, he was considered a rake, a fop who spent his time gambling and brawling in taverns, and surrounded himself with the dregs of Highever. He was too high born to join the Chantry or take up an occupation such as law, a superfluous son, unless he could be used to make a beneficial marriage alignment. But he was a Cousland despite his wild ways. Fergus knew his brother well enough to know he would have done his duty and married the Howe girl, except she objected. Fergus also knew the real reason the Howe girl had objected, though she had expressed it as a vague complaint that Nigel wore more paint and more colorful silks than any woman she knew. "When did you..."

Nigel knew what his brother was thinking, and he took another drink before he answered. "Only about six months before our life went to the void, and that's the truth. During a night of drunken carousing, Ser Gilmore and I happened upon a couple of pretty girls, and I got us a room at _The Mermaid_. When I woke up, the girls were long gone, and I had vague memories of what we had done once they left. Or rather, what he did, though I can't say that I minded, or that I didn't reciprocate."

Fergus raised an eyebrow. "I never would have guessed Ser Gilmore was that way..."

Nigel chuckled. "I tell you brother, it's always the ones you would least expect who are _that way_. I suspect half the templars I've come across are. Gil kept insisting he wasn't that way until the day he died, though a mug or two of ale was all it took for him to lose his inhibitions, and he always took the initiative. And before you ask, I didn't love him either. I do love sex. I admit I'll bed anyone given the opportunity, but like my friend Zevran, given a choice I prefer a woman's soft curves."

He took a drink and looked across the room, thoughts of Zevran threatening to bring back his melancholy. If he had ever truly loved anyone, it was the elven assassin, and he stroked the earring Zevran had given him absently. Zeveran had taught him so much. Sometimes he thought he should be at Zevran's side in Antiva, where he had gone to take the fight to The Crows. But the Maker had chosen that their paths diverge. He forced thoughts of the handsome elf from his mind.

He frowned and met his brother's eyes. "Anyway, that's not the reason. Our failure to produce an heir isn't because I like the occasional man or from our lack of trying. I've plowed that field many times since our wedding, admittedly because I wanted to get her with an heir so I could be free to pursue my own interests. It's not my fault it's a barren plain that I've wasted my seed on. Nor is it due to my darkspawn taint, as some have suggested. I made the biggest gossips in the Landsmeet privy to the fact that I have bastards already. Maker's breath, it has only been a little over two years since we were married!"

He scowled and drained his goblet before he went on. "Unfortunately, after five years with Cailan and two with me, it's becoming obvious that my lovely queen is barren, and she's not getting any younger. I know for a fact that Arl Eamon was trying to persuade Cailan to divorce her before Ostegar for that very reason. My sources also tell me that some troublemakers in the Landsmeet claim it's a sign from the Maker that we aren't meant to be on the throne."

"And that Alistair Therin should be recalled from the Wardens in Orlais, whether he wants to come or not. Yes, I've overheard the talk, though no one is foolish enough to say it directly to my face." Fergus sympathized with his brother, forced to exist in the maelstrom of court life. At least he could avoid that, except for when the Landsmeet gathered. "Do you think Eamon wants the throne for himself?"

Nigel shook his head emphatically. "No, nor does Teagan, yet Eamon is one of the most vocal proponents of bringing Alistair back. The only reason he's not more vocal is because he also prudent enough to see this could mean plunging Ferelden back into civil war, when she's still recovering from the Blight. He loves Ferelden too much to let that happen. Fortunately, for what it's worth, I'm still the Hero of Ferelden, though we both know that fame is a fickle whore."

Fergus rubbed his beard, just beginning to show threads of gray. "Was this planned, little brother? Or was it merely happenstance and you're taking advantage?"

Nigel grinned at him. "You know me too well, Fergus. As I said, I was lonely at Vigil Keep, more so than I had ever thought it would be. I was cast into a shark-pit of Howe supporters. I couldn't even take my Mabari along as I had agreed to loan him out for breeding pups in the royal kennels. If I could have started something with Nat Howe, things might have been different, but he's definitely not _that way._ I even missed Anora more than I thought possible...and you've seen yourself how much the girl resembles her."

"Yes, she does. Is it possible they're related?"

"They may be distant cousins, but we haven't verified it. She served as my yeoman, delivering me messages whenever I returned to the Keep, and organizing my paperwork. I found that she was much more efficient than my seneschal. During a late night of work, I had supper brought in along with a bottle of good Orlesian wine, and one thing led to another...But I swear it was only the one time. And then the day I was preparing to return to Denerim after doing what I could for the survivors in Amaranthine, she took me aside. I guessed what was coming from the look on her face. She wanted to get rid of it. She's certainly ambitious enough to be Loghain's relation."

Fergus grunted and refilled his goblet. "And your first thought was what, to set her up here for me to raise your bastard instead? Not that I mind, but I still fail to see how this helps your predicament."

Nigel made a face at his brother. "This wouldn't be an issue if we were like the dwarven nobles. Beautiful, shapely women line the streets in Orzammar wearing fine silk and lace gowns that cost enough to feed a casteless family for a year, vying for the nobles' attention. They think nothing of making such a woman a concubine in the house of whatever noble she was lucky enough to seduce, once she produces a male child. But then with the constant loss of clan members through darkspawn attacks and political intrigue, they have to do something to boost their numbers."

Fergus shook his head. To him, the dwarven society his brother was so fond of sounded barbaric. "But we're not. Indeed, Alfstanna told me that's the biggest objection among the banns to Alistair Therin taking the throne. There are plenty of noble bastards in Ferelden, but few feel they should be acknowledged, let alone sitting on the throne. This isn't Antiva or Nevarra. What is it you plan then? This involves more than keeping your bastard out of sight of the queen. I know you well enough to tell when you're scheming, little brother."

Nigel walked back across the room, and leaned in close. "Hear me out. And for the love of Andraste, this must go no further than this room. But if everything goes according to plan, all these problems will be solved."

Fergus arched an eyebrow. "Very well, though I suspect I'm not going to like what you're going to tell me."

Nigel replied tersely, "On the contrary, I think you'll agree this is the only way. The hardest part was persuading Anora to go along with it and extricating her from the swarm of sycophants that hover around her constantly."

He looked fierce and determined. For a second Fergus got a glimpse of the hidden side of his brother, the steely resolve that let him slay the archdemon. And as he studied him, he could see the plot take shape. He asked incredulously, "Anora ...You're not planning to...You mean to tell me Anora knows? Do you really think you pull this off?"

Nigel nodded. "She's desperate for a child, and I'm desperate to give her one. I had broached the subject of adoption, but she argued that an adopted heir wouldn't be acceptable to the Landsmeet, no matter how competent he or she was. Anora would make a wonderful mother. She seems like the ice queen on the surface, but she's very kind and generous with the children of the staff. Do you know she's even provided for schooling the children of Alistair's bitch of a half-sister?"

Fergus frowned, conscious he was being pulled in to this plot whether he wanted to go along or not. "You haven't answered my question again. Does Anora know what you're planning?"

Nigel smiled tightly, knowing his brother was in. "We mused about the possibility one night while we lay in bed together right after my return from Amaranthine. I planted the seed of the idea, but in truth my lovely wife watered and nurtured it, so that now she thinks it was her idea all along. Her personal maid is absolutely devoted to her, so we can count on her silence. Anora's on a royal progress through the Bannorn now, making her way here for your wedding. Once she arrives, we can make the announcement and add that she's been confined to bed. That will be a good excuse to send everyone packing after the wedding. The poor dear will need quiet and rest."

Fergus frowned. "I don't know if I could keep this from Alfstanna."

Nigel chuckled. "You don't think you can distract your bride, or that she won't be busy assuming the duties of the Teyrna of Highever? She won't be a problem. The only problem I'm still working out is the timing, as Anora will need to be further along than she can possibly be. But that will give us an excuse to keep the courtiers away, using the excuse that the child was born early. We can insist that it's for the child's safely until he or she is old enough to travel. We would have to impose on your hospitality for several months, but it will work."

Fergus sighed. "Can't you see that you're involving more that me, the girl, and the maid in this scheme? The more who know, the more who could betray your confidence. You're setting yourself up for blackmail, brother."

Nigel nodded as he poured another drink. "Don't worry. I can deal with a blackmailer."

Indeed, because of his continued secret excursions in his guise of the Dark Wolf, Nigel had gathered more than enough information to blackmail most of the nobility. "The girl isn't a problem. She will be taken care of for life, and her child will be the heir to the throne. The only other ones who will know are those we are certain we can trust. Fortunately, Anora is much beloved by her staff and her people. It will be seen as a miracle. People will want to believe the Maker provided for her. This will work. It has to work, not only for her sake, but most of all, for the sake of the future of our beloved Ferelden."

For Nigel had found his true love after all, despite its mud and smell of wet dog. He loved Ferelden with all his heart, and he would do anything to keep her safe.


	2. Suspicious Mind

Chapter 2 Suspicious Mind

This was going to be a one-shot, but a plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. It started from a question, "Who would be sent to Kirkwall seeking aid against Orlais if Alistair wasn't king?" That led to my next question: "What does a Prince Consort do once he's done his duty and fathered an heir?" Eventually this roving ambassador will meet Hawke at the Gallows.

Usual disclaimer: The characters in this story are owned by Bioware and other people, and not by me, with the exception of my incarnation of a roguish Cousland.

The baby arrived in the dead of night, and their plan would have worked perfectly, except for the death of the young mother soon after delivering the heir to the Ferelden throne, due to an unexpected, but not unusual, hemorrhage. The Prince Consort stood in stunned silence checking the woman's pulse again, wracked with guilt that they hadn't brought a mage trained in healing into their plot. But Wynne was off in Cumberland, and Anders had left the Wardens in a fit of pique when the new commander made him give up his beloved Ser-Pounce-a-Lot. There simply wasn't another mage they knew well enough to trust with such a secret. So instead, they had to make due with Zevran, Anora's maid Erlina, and a devoted, but ancient elven midwife, who had delivered Fergus and Nigel both as well as their father.

While she regretted the woman's death, Anora's razor-sharp political mind was focused on the advantage in this tragedy. The baby she cradled lovingly in her arms was truly hers now. There would be no worry that her husband's former lover might change her mind about their arrangement, nor that she might decide that her silence was worth quite a bit more than gold and the commission she had already been given. The only problem was what to do with the body.

Zevran immediately took charge. At his whispered suggestion, Anora distracted the midwife by demanding a thorough examination of the newborn girl in her chamber. He nudged Erlina, frozen in shock at seeing so much blood. As they had planned, she quickly removed some of the bloody sheets to be placed in the Queen's own chamber then led the Queen and the midwife there through a hidden passage inside the thick walls, built mainly for use by servants. Zevran slapped Nigel gently to rouse him, whispering, "Snap out of it, _mi amor_. We are neither of us strangers to death, no? We have work to do this night if we're going to pull this off."

Recovering his wits, Nigel whispered, "Indeed, I think I know just the place." He helped him gently wrap the woman's body in the comforter and spirit her away through one of the many internal passages in Highever castle that Nigel had known of since he was a boy, and that Zevran had also spotted the first day he arrived. Nigel's mabari Buddy led the way to ensure they didn't run into anyone, but few servants were up at this hour, and there were no guards in this part of the castle.

They went outside through the same door in the root cellar that Nigel and Duncan had used to make their escape from Howe a few years before. Once outside, Zevran retrieved shovels from a tool shed, and they buried the body in a locked garden that had once been Eleanor Cousland's private retreat. The garden brought Fergus too many painful memories, and his new bride had no interest in gardening. Thus it was locked up except for when tended infrequently by an elven gardener.

Nigel leaned close and whispered, "'Tis a pity we cannot offer her a proper cremation, but I pray the Maker understands."

Zevran nodded in agreement and embraced his love warmly as he only did when they were alone. After they said a benediction over the body, they returned to the castle to finish cleaning up and burning any evidence so that Nigel could join the Queen.

The joyous news of the birth of an heir was sent out throughout the kingdom the next morning. Prince Nigel and his mabari kept at bay the courtiers and visiting nobles and ambassadors who requested to see Queen Anora, insisting that she was exhausted from her ordeal and must have rest. Anora got into bed and played the part of invalid for the few visitors who were allowed in briefly, mainly the Teyrn and Teyrna, because they were family, and the Revered Mother from the Highever Chantry, who blessed the baby.

They considered themselves fortunate that the babe had been nearly a month overdue. Yet she was also small at just over six pounds, which added credence to their story that she had been born a few weeks early. Anora had wrapped the baby in a soft blanket the minute she was born, and she had hardly allowed her to leave her side since her birth. She even changed some of her diapers herself and only reluctantly gave her up to hand her over to the wet nurse for feeding. It was also fortunate that it was the custom of many Ferelden noblewomen to use the services of wet nurses rather than feeding their babies themselves.

Nigel was amused at how quickly his wife adapted to motherhood, and by how quickly white lies sprang from her lips. She said when asked that she had told no one about her condition, not the Prince, not even Erlina at first, because she simply hadn't realized she was with child until she was on her progress through the Bannorn. When she did realize it, she didn't want to announce it until she was far enough along she was sure she wasn't going to lose the child. Her story was plausible, and none had a reason to question it.

The baby had a full head of the same golden hair as her mother, which was also the same shade as the Queen's, and those who were allowed to see her convinced themselves after Nigel's prompting that she resembled her presumed mother. While some wags whispered that it was too bad the heir was a girl, the kingdom as a whole celebrated the news of the birth of the Princess Leanora with feasting and fireworks. The succession was now secure, and her birth was seen as a further sign of the Maker's favor, the first sign being how quickly the Blight had been put down by good Prince Nigel and the Grey Wardens.

After a little more than a month, the Queen grew restless with her forced convalescence and delegation of duties and declared herself fit to travel back to Denerim. The royal entourage began a slow progress home, which was a relief to the Teyrn and Teyrna, who hadn't had Highever to themselves since their marriage. The Queen and her Prince were greeted by crowds, who lined the roads to see them in the villages and towns they passed through on their way. The Prince Consort rode alongside the royal coach on his black charger with Buddy trotting alongside, and he delighted the children by tossing handfuls of coins, while the Queen held the baby up to the coach's window when they stopped to rest for the night. Only Erlina knew that every night the Prince slipped through the shadows to share the Queen's bed, because she discretely slipped into his bed, having a tryst with Zevran. The drawback was that she had been seen, and it was assumed she was sleeping with the Prince. She also complained that her things began to smell of mabari, but it was worth it to see her Lady so happy.

And they were happy. Since that day a few months before when Anora watched from the balcony as her Prince made his triumphant return from Amaranthine, they had behaved like the honeymooners they had never been during the first two years of their union. Erlina teased her Lady one night when she was preparing her for bed, as only she could tease her, reminding her how in the weeks prior to their lavish wedding, she had confided that her biggest fear had been that her husband-to-be would find any excuse to avoid consummating their marriage because of his obvious attachment to the Antivan elf.

Anora arched an eyebrow and replied, "That wasn't all I was concerned about, as you recall." She reminded her of the rumors about his visits to _The Pearl_ and his rather exotic requests there, which he managed despite being hunted by darkspawn and by her father (she rejected the story about him, the Antivan, the female pirate, the Orlesian 'Sister,' and the three greased nugs as too ridiculous to believe, the nug part anyway).

Erlina smiled at her as she prepared to take the baby away to the tent reserved for her and the nurse, where they would be guarded by half a dozen soldiers and three mabaris hounds. "It was as I told you, your Majesty. Gentlemen reserved their more exotic appetites for places like _The Pearl_ and only the most vulgar make such demands of their wives, unless of course their wives shared their appetites. And the Prince has been a gentleman, no?"

Anora smirked in response in a way that said, "Not always," but didn't reply. She gave the baby a final kiss on her forehead before Erlina left with her, then lay back on her bed as she waited in anticipation of her husband's visit. She thought back to that time as she loosened her hair. It was right after the Wardens had defeated the Archdemon, and besides the tremendous work of rebuilding Ferelden, she was planning her lavish wedding to the Hero of Ferelden as she had agreed to tentatively, to gain his support for her remaining on the throne.

But it had occurred to her one night as she lay in bed, too tired to sleep, that she didn't really know her betrothed very well, apart from his rescuing her from Howe. He was several years younger, nearly a decade. She recalled meeting him once before that night, in the receiving line after her marriage to Cailan. He was a brash, cocksure, beardless boy then, just old enough to have accompanied his family instead of being left home with his tutor. He did have impeccable manners though, a testament to Eleanor Cousland. He was thoroughly charming. Still, he had only stood out amongst the other noble youth in attendance for wearing the latest Orlesian hat and boots and quite a ridiculous bit of paint to hide a few teenage blemishes, and by the way he had brazenly flirted with her. And with Cailan, she recalled now, though she hadn't realized it at the time, and her husband hadn't seemed to notice either. If the Couslands had come to town more often, she was sure he would have eventually made his way into Cailan's inner circle.

She decided she had to know. She had a pair of personal spies she had acquired at her father's suggestion, to keep tabs on Cailan's frequent excursions to taverns and _The Pearl_. They also tried to keep tabs on her father for her after Cailan's death. At her request, they had investigated these rumors about her betrothed, and confirmed some of them. They reported he had recently visited and given money to an elven woman in the alienage, and that her elf-blooded human son bore a remarkable resemblance to him. That was difficult for Anora to believe because he would have to have been barely past boyhood himself when the boy was conceived. The spies reported he also had sent or delivered personally a gold sovereign weekly to a former laundry woman turned flower shop owner named Goldana. But that was all that they could learn, for after a run-in one night with the notorious Dark Wolf, the spies reported that they feared her betrothed had some powerful associates, perhaps even the Antivan Crows, and they were reluctant to investigate him further.

She had felt it was better to get it out in the open before she married another Cailan (and she reminded herself, while she could still control his behavior by threatening to call the wedding off), so she had confronted Nigel about what her spies had learned, demanding to know how many mistresses and bastards he had. She had expected him to be angry, or to lie, but instead he seemed amused at hearing that she had been investigating him, which made her want to slap the smug grin off his lean, wolfish face. She tried, but he caught her hand in the blink of an eye and held it in an iron-like grip. She could see cold hard steel in his eyes for a moment, behind the foppish facade, as if a mask had slipped aside. She remembered feeling frozen.

He gave her a kiss on the forehead then answered her accusations. "Ah yes, Goldana. I only help that wench as a favor to Alistair, who believes her to be his half-sister. As for the boy in the alienage," he shrugged dismissively. She felt the anger flare anew, but he deftly caught her other hand."In my defense, I was very young, and he is merely the result of a youthful indiscretion. I've only recently, and accidentally I might add, found them. Maker's breath, Anora, his mother's an elf! I will see he's educated or apprenticed in a good trade, but that child could never be threat to your throne."

He then had confessed one affair she hadn't learned about, telling her it was a gesture of good faith. While still firmly holding her hands, he had told her about the apostate's "ritual" too, but he promised her that Morrigan's condition for saving his life was that she be allowed to leave, and the child would never know who his father was. She remembered his exact words: "You may see it as yet another dalliance. I saw it as a way of ensuring that Alistair, Riordan, or I wouldn't have to die to defeat the Archdemon. I'm sure you know all about my _exotic_ tastes, but she's the only one out of all my companions I wouldn't have thought of bedding. If you could have seen the look on her face as she approached the bed—I can only liken it to a snake slithering towards its prey—you would understand me when I tell you it was all I could do to _perform_."

He grew serious and raised her hands and kissed them. Her heart had leaped. She had expected lies, and she wasn't unconscious of the danger she had placed herself in, being alone with him. But two years later, she still shivered at the earnestness of his proclamation. "That's all of it, my Queen. I swear by Blessed Andraste's sacred ashes I will never knowingly publicly embarrass or humiliate you. Let me be frank. It's not in my nature to promise fidelity, but I do promise no more visits to _The Pearl_ by Nigel Cousland, and no one will know of my indiscretions."

Anora hadn't known whether to embrace him or slap him again, but she couldn't deny her relief. He had told her when they were talking one night about how overwhelmed he had felt to have been allowed by the Maker to find Andraste's ashes. His promise was genuine. She had felt embarrassed by her inquisition, and she told him she felt it was a pity Alistair's presumed sister had to suffer as a child for Maric's indiscretion. She had offered to take on the responsibility for her children's support and schooling from then on as a peace offering to Alistair (and to her betrothed), on the condition that he knew it came from her. She hadn't made the same promise for his elvish son. That was his responsibility.

Once that had been settled, she had returned her attention to their wedding, which she hoped would help her subjects forget the Blight. Yet Nigel had taken such an active hand in helping her with the wedding arrangements that it had given her pause. He found roses that perfectly matched the pink of her gown, suggested the food and wine pairings, insisted they use a Fereldan tailor as a point of national pride, rather than the Orlesian tailor she favored, and styled her hair himself. She had to admit that it was lovely when he finished, but she hadn't known what to think of a man who was a deft with a comb as he was with his twin daggers.

She smiled remembering their wedding day like it was yesterday. It had begun before dawn, with a quick breakfast of toast and marmalade. Over an hour was spent with dressing and Nigel styling her hair before rushing off to get himself ready, and then another hour traveling in a slow procession by coach with her ladies to the Chantry. The formal service itself lasted nearly two hours, and she had felt a pang of jealousy as the flame-haired former 'Sister' who had traveled with Nigel's band, stepped forward to begin the processional hymn. She had suspected there had been something between them too, but had been consoled by the look in the woman's eyes when they met hers, along with the note of love lost that carried in her lovely voice, that told her that whatever had been between them, was over. She had been further consoled that Leliana would be leaving to return the next day to the Chantry in Val Royeaux to give a report to the Divine herself, accompanying Alistair, who was going there to rejoin the Grey Wardens.

Where was that man? She got up and poured herself some wine, frowning as her thoughts drifted to Maric's bastard, who had stood awkwardly at Nigel's side as his best man. To think Nigel had suggested she marry him at first before suggesting himself as a husband. The very thought of marrying Cailan's brother still provoked a shudder! Nigel had been adamant about having him as his best man, telling her firmly, 'It will be one of my best friends, either Alistair, Oghren, or Buddy." The drunk was certainly out of the question! He loved that dog, and she knew he would do it, so she tolerated Alistair's presence.

If it had been left to her, the expedient thing would have have been to execute Alistair to prevent him from changing his mind and return to Denerim's gates leading an army. She hadn't forgiven him for killing her father either. But Nigel had seemed to anticipate her the night he first proposed, and had been adamant that she promise to spare his friend's life. As a compromise, he made that his condition of accepting the lesser title of _Prince Consort_ rather than becoming her King, as was his right as the heir and presumptive next Teyrn of Highever. He had pointed out that Alistair had no interest in her throne, but a great interest in remaining with the Wardens. He had also convinced her that by allowing Alistair to be his best man, they would send a subtle message to Arl Eamon and the other nobles who wanted to put a Theirin on the throne, bastard or not, that Alistair supported her as undisputed Queen of Ferelden. Sometimes she thought Nigel was as shrewd a politician as she was, but he hid it well.

She had another goblet of wine and sprinkled some lavender oil on their bed while she waited. It had been mid-afternoon before they concluded the wedding ceremony, which was followed immediately by the Prince's coronation, and returned to the palace to face an endless receiving line. They had hardly had time to use the privy, much less to enjoy the delicious food and wine provided for their guests. If not for Erlina, she might not have gotten much more than a sip of water here and there all day. Her feet ached in the adorable Orlesian shoes that she had insisted on, that matched her gown but pinched her feet. By the time they had finished with all the official duties and could be escorted to their chambers, she with her ladies and he with his Antivan and a collection of young nobles vying to become his courtiers, every step she took was an exquisite torture.

Luckily getting out of her jewels and gown had required far less effort than getting her into them. Getting the shoes off was another matter because her feet had swollen. Her head was pounding, her back ached, and removing the shoes only seemed to intensify the pain in her feet. It had been all she could do not to snap at her ladies' silly prattle. They seemed to move deliberately slowly. As one of her ladies pulled back the covers and another stood by to help remove her chemise so the next could help her into her nightgown, while yet another stood by to remove her stockings, she wanted nothing more than to conclude her wedding night so she could get some sleep. Then she had looked around, sensing someone else in the room, and saw him there, watching them, with that smug amused grin.

No one else had noticed him. He stepped forward when she nodded to acknowledge him, a bottle of wine under his arm, a covered plate in one hand, and two goblets in the other. He was wearing only a silken nightshirt that clung to his lithe body, ties undone, which left it open halfway down his muscular but smooth chest. He had a lean, wiry dancer's body, which reflected his acrobatic fighting style that she had the opportunity to observe first hand when he rescued her from Howe's estate. His long, wheat-colored hair was unbraided and hung loose around his shoulders. He bowed gracefully to her, straightened, and purred, "I shall take it from here, ladies. _Adieu_."

She mused as she lay there remembering that night, that if he had been an Antivan Crow sent to take her life, they would all have been dead before anyone was aware of his presence. Several of her ladies had gasped in alarm, and Erlina had protested that the Queen was not ready to receive him. He set the plate and goblets down on a side table along with the wine and glided over like a cat. "What do you say, my Queen? I say, why bother? I shall soon cast it aside on the floor anyway. Now go. Shoo!" He waved them towards the door.

Anora had sat on the bed watching them scurry off indignantly, and fought back a chuckle, relieved that with any luck, he would do his duty, return to his chamber, and she might be asleep within half an hour. "Your Prince has spoken." She watched him as he hustled them out then shut the door behind them and placed a chair under the door handle to block it. His smile was more of a leer. He poured them some wine, then brought the goblets and the plate over to the bed, handed her one to her and drained the other then and handed her the plate.

She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the smell of the food reached her. She remembered looking up and seeing him watching her after she devoured most of the food, her cheeks burning as it occurred to her it had been brought for them both. She had asked quietly, "Have you eaten?" as she held what was left towards him.

His reply was another smirk. He finished the goblet of wine and dropped gracefully onto the bed beside her. "I have. Alistair said that was his last duty as Best Man. Well, that and taking Buddy to the royal kennels to service one of Bann Teagan's bitches. It's his wedding night too, you see."

She had been tempted to ask if he was planning to service her now, but his words had sunk in through the haze of sleepiness, and she looked suspiciously at the bite on her fork. "Alistair brought this?"

He had replied with a chuckle and waved his hand dismissively. "Not to worry, my Queen...my wife. He brought it for us _both_. He certainly wouldn't spit in my food. And besides, Zevran tested it and certified it to be poison-free and delicious for the most part, except he said the meat pies have too much marjoram."

She had set the plate aside once her hunger was sated and accepted another goblet of wine, which made her more sleepy, though the food had done wonders for her headache. She remembered awkward minutes passing, wondering if he was going to make a move, or if she should say something. She gained a new sympathy for those who who made arranged marriages. It was far different than the mad passion of her wedding night with Cailan.

Finally he had spoken, only stating flatly, "You are exhausted." He had added, "I can tell from the way you're sitting you're in desperate need of a massage, and I've learned a few techniques during my travels. Allow me." He hadn't waited for a response, gently massaging her shoulders with his long, strong fingers then suggesting when she relaxed that she lie down so he could attend to her back. At first she assumed this was foreplay, but he clearly had been taught by someone trained in healing massage techniques. She still had expected a hand to slip up her thigh raising her chemise, and wondered if since he liked men, he would want to have her from behind. Instead he kissed the back of her neck and turned his attention to her feet, vowing grimly to burn those shoes. It was wonderful.

She had been so relaxed that it was all she could do to stay awake. He had stopped when she dozed off again and stretched out beside her, pulling up the silk coverlet. "We have the rest of our lives. Let us sleep for now, for that merchants' guild breakfast in the morning will be here before you know it." He massaged her temples as she drifted off to sleep, her last thought being that he had shown her an unexpected way of avoiding intimacy.

Not that he avoided it for long, as she recalled. When she awakened, he was lying on his side watching her with that same cocky grin. She could tell he was one of those people who were instantly awake and disgustingly chipper even before the coffee. He took her hand and kissed it then said, "Good morning, my dear. I was lying here thinking about how beautiful you are when you sleep. Maker's breath, your lashes! I could get lost in them. Now, I believe we have unfinished business to attend to, and there's just enough time before Erlina begins pounding on the door." She remembered lips covered hers before she had time to respond, and he had finished and rolled off her just as she was beginning to warm to him. With a final smooch on the cheek, he bounded off to his own chamber.

That had been their married life for the first two years. But after the first year, his visits to her had come less frequently. He was her amiable Prince Consort, letting her rule as they had agreed, and he only had given his opinion on matters of state when asked. But after nearly two years and no heir...Neither of them had said it, but his time in Amaranthine was considered by both a trial separation. Despite regular visits to her chamber (twice weekly at the very least, to her surprise), she remained childless, and either adoption, or making squires of the children of the banns until they found a one who showed promise to groom for the throne, was no solution. It would have only be a matter of time before the nation once again exploded in civil war. Neither of them wanted that. It was painfully obvious that she was barren, or that the Maker was punishing her, or both of them. So he had gone to Vigil's Keep, and she worked on the problem of coming up with an acceptable successor.

That all changed that evening he made his triumphant return after several months' absence, once again the Hero of Ferelden, despite having put Amaranthine to the torch to purify it of the darkspawn taint. He was wearing gleaming new dragon wing armor that was black as night. He rode slowly towards the castle through the cheering crowds, accompanied by his personal guard, having discovered and defeated a previously unknown type of darkspawn. She hadn't realized until she was without him how much she had grown accustomed to his presence, his thoughtful advice, and especially, his skilled massages. He was waving to the crowd and looked up at the balcony and saw her. He drew up his horse and smiled broadly at her and saluted, then held up a rose bush wrapped in a burlap sack that was draped across his horse. He had remembered her story of her father bringing a rose bush to her mother! Her heart had melted as he nudged his horse to speed his way to her side.

He had missed her as well. They had found passion that night, like she had known with Cailan. Yet after a few blissful days, he came to her room one night and broke away after one kiss. She remembered he didn't make eye contact, or couldn't. She had finally asked what was wrong.

It had taken two goblets of wine for him to work up the courage to talk to her, and she had two as well, anticipating the worst, which he confirmed. "I have something I must confess, love. It's something I wish I could spare you from hearing, but I don't want us to have secrets. I missed you terribly while I was away...I was very lonely, and...I wasn't looking for company, but a yeoman was assigned to me who looked enough like you that she could be your sister. In fact, I think you might be related, but that's beside the point." Her heart had felt like a lump of ice as she listened. She only heard half of his words. She knew this was no mere fling he was confessing. As she had guessed, the woman was carrying his child, further proof to the world that the Maker had cursed her.

He had tried to reassure her that if they hadn't been apart for so long, the affair never would have happened. "It only happened one time, late one night after too much wine. She looks so much like you. She sounds like you. She even arches her eyebrow the same way. But she's not you, and I'm so sorry. I would be confessing to the Maker alone if it weren't for the child...I shall send her away to Highever. Fergus will keep the child out of sight for us. She doesn't even want to become a mother. She told me if I couldn't help her, she said she knew of a woman who would help her be rid of it. She only wants me to give it over to someone else to raise so she can rejoin the army. I wish it had been you, love. I truly do. You deserve a child. I wish there was a way it could be yours, that some mage could wave a staff and make it yours. Please forgive me."

She had been heartbroken, but he was so contrite. She had missed him terribly too, but as he said, women were stronger and could control their urges. On the one hand, she wanted to slap him senseless. On the other hand, she wanted to console him, for it was partly her fault. Most of all, she had wanted him to shut up and leave her to her thoughts. But his words he repeated over and over bled through the pain and disappointment. If only there was a way...thank the Maker they had Fergus they could turn to, someone they could trust. It wasn't fair...no, it wasn't! The woman didn't even want it and would gladly be rid of it. It wasn't fair, when she wanted, no, needed a child. She deserved a child.

And then a plot was born. She heard herself saying, "Pity we can't hide her and tell everyone it's mine when the time comes. I wonder how much she would want to go away after," as if she was listening in to another Anora talking to him. Was it even possible? Even now she couldn't believe she came up with the plan.

He had put his arms around her, and his gray eyes met hers. She had to admit he was very clever about so many things, but not as clever as she. He had all but said it. She still marveled that he didn't see what she was getting at. He had finally frowned and asked, "What are you saying, love? Did you think I was suggesting we should somehow raise her child as our own? How could we even do such a thing? Unless..." And that was all it took.

Within an hour, he had run with her idea. It had been thrilling, being co-conspirators. She could trust Erlina implicitly, and he could trust his brother. She had been fascinated by watching him set her plan in motion. He would contact the Antivan elf to help, and he told her there was another, the mysterious Dark Wolf, who had helped him in Amaranthine. She had been afraid that would open them to blackmail, but he trusted him with his life after what he had done for him there, though he warned his help would come at a price. He had a few contacts who could probably get in touch with him...it was better if she didn't know about it. He was also certain the woman would agree to their plan with the promise of a modest amount of sovereigns, in addition to a commission. Captain should do, one of many promotions planned for the survivors of the attacks on Amaranthine and Vigils Keep anyway. So it was settled, and she had left it to him to persuade the woman while she conspired with Erlina.

Anora got up and peered outside through a crack in the tent's entrance. She was beginning to fear that something was wrong, but she wasn't about to call one of the guards to go in search of him. He had gone to meet a courier, who was to deliver a bag of sovereigns and a letter of condolence for the woman's family, which she had signed along with other documents while they were setting up camp. It occurred to her that she didn't even know her name; she hadn't wanted to know. At Nigel's suggestion, her death had been ascribed to darkspawn taint, yet another victim of the siege of Vigil's Keep. He had told her it was possible for victims to survive for weeks, even months, before the taint took them, No one would question the story. By last count, twenty-four soldiers and civilians who were at the Keep that week had either died of the taint or had been forced to become Gray Wardens to survive.

A sound behind her made her jump, and she turned and came face to face with her husband, grinning at her and holding out a hand to her. In his other, he held a small whip, odd because she knew he didn't abide whipping dogs, horses, or elves. She arched an eyebrow as he pulled her towards him, thinking again that she should be unnerved that he could slip into her tent without anyone noticing. She whispered into his neck as he kissed hers, "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back and gave her a hard kiss that took her breath away. "It's done. I fear I have kept you waiting. Perhaps I should be disciplined."

She arched an eyebrow and glanced at the whip, not sure how to take this turn in their relationship. But she was game. "Perhaps."

Two months more passed. The princess was thriving, as was the kingdom, except in places touched most by the Blight that they feared might be wastelands forever. Anora was content, though at times she was troubled by a distant look in her husband's eyes, which he quickly hid. Zevran had left to stay a few steps ahead of the Crows again, and she suspected that darkened both her husband's, and Erlina's, moods. But she herself was pleased. Life was good.

One morning they had just finished breakfast with a delegation from Nevarra, and she was discussing the morning's agenda with her chatelaine. Nigel was going to take some of the younger Nevarrans hawking, and after a kiss on her cheek, led them away to the stables to find suitable horses. She turned her attention to the agenda again but suddenly felt light headed, then like a fire was burning through her. Her last thought was that the sausage might have been off. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back on the floor, surrounded by her guards and with the senior Nevarran ambassador, who had stayed behind, loosening her bodice as her chatelaine looked on in horror. Erlina brushed the ambassador aside just as Nigel, alerted by a guard, ran back into the room. He scooped her up and carried her to her chamber while Erlina sent one of the servants for a healer.

She promptly lost her breakfast all over the front of Nigel's hunting doublet, which added to her belief that something in the meal had been off. As Erlina gingerly removed her gown and Nigel handed his doublet off to one of the servants to be cleaned, she asked weakly, "Is anyone else sick?"

Nigel shook his head, frowning with concern. "Why, no. Not that I've heard. I ate lightly, anticipating the ride. But I shall find out." He called another servant and a guard and sent them to the kitchen to set all the leftover food aside along with the Queen's dishes and goblets. He lay his slender, calloused hand on her forehead. "No fever, but it's said a pox is rampant in the alienage. I think we should have Leanora and her nurse removed to another wing just in case." He called to another servant and sent the message.

Anora grumbled to Erlina, "I'm sure I'm fine, and I have far too much to do to lie abed."

Nigel was adamant. "I can't take any chances. I will attend to your duties until you feel better. I managed to rule Amaranthine despite having to deal with intelligent darkspawn and unintelligent Howe lackeys." Nigel paused on the way out the door, and for a moment, she thought she saw a look of regret as he looked at her before he turned away. Or was it her imagination?

He certainly had grown more competent since his return from Amarantine. He spoke his mind, and wasn't shy about asking questions or voicing his opinion when he disagreed with her. But he always capitulated, though sometimes the way things worked out, he got his way anyway. Bann Desmond had been one of her father's loyal supporters (and Howe's, though she forgave him for that). She had wanted to recognize his service with a diamond-studded brooch. Nigel had been vehemently against it arguing that there were others just as worthy who weren't traitors, but as she would not be moved, he suddenly threw up his hands and muttered before he stalked off (as he usually did), "Do what you think best, my Queen."

And she had, but the Bann's estate in Denerim had been burgled within two weeks, and the brooch was among the items taken and later donated to the Chantry. It had been blamed on the Dark Wolf, but there was no proof, only speculation that it had to be the work of Denerim's latest bogeyman. That put her in mind too of a canary diamond that vanished from her things that night that Nigel had first proposed. After their wedding, she had noticed the Antivan wearing an earring with a similar diamond, though it was smaller, and the cut was different. She scowled at herself as she accepted a cup of herbal tea that Nigel had sent for her from the kitchen. This was ridiculous, this suspicion of her husband. Her stomach was making her peevish.

But the tea didn't stay down long either. It didn't help that it was bitter, despite a generous addition of honey. She had sent a servant after the one sent to summon a Revered Mother, telling her not to bother because she was sure there was nothing that required her service. Nigel came to check on her early in the afternoon with more of that awful tea that he told her was a special recipe of his old Nan's. He had concluded the morning's business, as well as the afternoon's in record time, though he had laughed and told her he would still rather fight a cavern full of hurlocks armed only with a soup spoon than deal with court again. But he _would_, if she still wasn't feeling better on the morrow. With a last kiss on the cheek, he left to entertain the Nevarrans at _The Pearl_.

She drifted off to sleep for a good hour, and when she awoke, she was alone except for Erlina, also asleep in a chair near her bed. She was about to take a drink of the tea, but thought better of it and poured herself water instead. But she immediately chided herself. It was sweet of him to bring it, even if it tasted vile. He was always doing little things for her. It was in much the same way his mother had been so kind to her after she lost her own, though she was years away of being anyone of consequence other than the daughter of the other teyrn. He was like his mother in many ways. They had been good people, the Couslands. Probably because they mainly stayed in Highever and away from the politics of Denerim. She stood, still feeling a bit light-headed, and picked up the cup and walked to the window to take the warm afternoon breeze.

But she was very much like her father, who had suspected ulterior motives in everything, even in Eleanor Cousland's taking notice of and corresponding with, a grieving teenage girl. That was before Fergus' marriage, when she was probably on the short list of potential brides for him. (Even back then she had decided that she was at the top of the list to marry Prince Cailan. It had only been a matter of waiting for him to see it.) She scowled looking at the cup and impulsively poured the tea out the window, then drank as much water as she could hold.

She couldn't deny that this illness had come on suddenly. Was it poison? Who would do such a thing? Who had a motive? She treated the servants well, even the elves. Was she a threat to Nevarra then? That was too ludicrous to waste another thought on. She glanced out the window, where the tea had stained the wall. That only left...Was she seriously considering that he would...poison her then? Yes, she was, considering it at least.

She knew for a fact that he was skilled in its use, something he had picked up from the Antivan. Zevran had said something she barely overheard about leaving him a parting gift of flowers and deadly poison. Nigel had warned her and the servants not to touch his weapons or his pack when they were first married. But to what end? He had told her he himself was immune to his favorites from ingesting low daily doses, which was unnerving enough. He had shrugged off her concern by telling her in strictest confidence that he was already slowly dying of the darkspawn taint anyway. But he had given her everything she needed. Truth be told, he was the one who was no longer needed now that she had an heir. His child. What a wicked thing she was thinking! But she couldn't dilute the poison idea no matter how much water she drank, which she promptly made herself throw up.

Erlina awakened and came to help her. "Still feeling sick, your Majesty? I insist, I am sending for a healer."

She smiled wanly at her, the one person she knew she could trust. "I am feeling better now, but perhaps you should send for a healer and the Revered Mother. Do it yourself...But do not trouble the Prince about it. If he should inquire about my condition, tell him I am sleeping. And do look in on the baby for me."

Erlina curtsied. "I cannot. The Prince, he said he thought it best if she was kept isolated, in case you had caught the pox or some other filthy disease from one of the servants, no?"

Anora groused, "Yes, but no one else is sick, correct?" At least he was thinking of their daughter's safety. And she need not worry about him bringing home some filthy disease from _The Pearl_, since she knew he was only there to see that the delegation was entertained and wouldn't be hiring one of the workers himself.

Erlina paused on her way out the door. "No, your Majesty. Your chamberlain says that other than a few elven servants who didn't report to work, no one else is sick."

Anora sat back down on the edge of her bed and pulled a shawl around her shoulders, suddenly chilled to the bone. She was also ravenously hungry, and was tempted to send a servant to the kitchen, but she was afraid she wouldn't be able to keep the food down. Perhaps some bread and broth would be best. Erlina could send for something when she returned, or better yet, go and get it herself so that no one else touched it.

"This suspicion is like a poison!" She picked up a chemise she was embroidering for the baby in the evenings. It had been cut big, because she was practical enough to know the girl would probably pass her first year before it was finished. She had everything she wanted now. Life was good, for her as well as for him, other than his elf being away. Motive...And then an evil thought occurred to her, and she dropped the chemise in horror at it. She had expected him to return to his old ways now that they had an heir. But the truth was, now that _he_ had an heir, she was the one who was no longer needed.

"He wouldn't do that!" she murmured as she picked up the chemise and set it aside. Wouldn't he? Maker's breath, he would gain everything by her death. The Landsmeet would waste no time in making the grieving heroic young prince the King of Ferelden. What was their option? Another war for the succession? Any who opposed him might find themselves victims of the Dark Wolf, or worse. He had told her about his travels to Orzammar, where political assassination was a way of life, as it was in Antiva. But they had been so happy these past months. She had grown to care for him, even love him. She thought he loved her too.

The door to her outer chamber opened, and Erlina entered, along with the Revered Mother Ardis and a young mage, who also wore the symbol of the Chantry. Erlina gasped in alarm. "You so are pale, your Majesty. I am glad now I ran the whole way there."

This Revered Mother was a plain, plump, elderly woman, with a reputation for being hard-working and not tolerating what she called "nonsense" from anyone. She didn't waste time on pleasantries. "If you will lie down, your Majesty, we can have a look at you and get back to the Chantry in time for evening prayers."

Erlina shut the door and waited, biting her lip nervously. After a moment she said, "The Prince saw me and caught up with me to see what I was doing, even though I ran. I...told him you were asleep, but he said he will be here after he makes an excuse to the Nevarrans."

The Revered Mother scowled witheringly at Erlina's interruption then turned back to her patient, pulling her lower eyelids down and peering into her eyes as the mage examined Anora's fingers. "Good of him to be concerned, but all he'll do is get underfoot. At least you know how to make yourself useful as long as you're quiet." She probed the sides of Anora's neck. "Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue."

Nigel took the stairs to the royal apartments two at a time followed by Buddy. He was concerned about his wife and hoped that nothing was wrong. It had taken too long to break away from the Nevarrans. On the other hand, if nothing was wrong, he would have to put his assignation with the stunningly handsome Guillermo, the youngest of the delegation, off until later, if not indefinitely. He had fair skin, shining black eyes, and a wild mop of curly black hair, and though no words had passed other than a vague hint at meeting later, his eyes had said it all. He could taste him already.

He had been annoyed when he first spotted Erlina tearing through the city and chased her down and she told him of her errand. Especially since she was obviously lying to him about Anora sending for a healer if she was asleep. But at the same time he felt ashamed of himself for thinking of himself first. After all, Anora was not given to hysterical illnesses. He had seen her work through a bout of the dreaded _influenza_ that had felled him and most of her courtiers with only breaks for an afternoon nap. If she thought she needed a healer, it was serious.

He burst through the door and nearly ran into Revered Mother Ardis, second in command to the Grand Cleric, the oldest and most severe Mother in the Denerim Chantry. She knit her thick iron gray brows and poked a thick finger in his chest. "You have some explaining to do!"

He gently pushed her finger aside as Buddy got into a defensive crouch and snarled. "I? What is the matter?" He didn't bother using her title as she had ignored his. He glanced away over at Anora, who was lying in bed crying, Erlina sitting beside her with an arm around her, though on closer look, she didn't appear upset. He stepped deftly around the enormous crone, leaving Buddy still snarling and scooting so as to keep himself between the large female and his master.

He put his arms around Anora, whose cheeks were wet with tears, and also flushed crimson. "What did I do, love?" He suppressed a sigh that the handsome Guillermo would have to wait until another night as his wife clearly needed him more.

Anora couldn't speak, but she finally managed to get out, "The Maker has a sense of humor." She blushed again, thinking she deserved to be humiliated, even if only to herself.

The Revered Mother snarled at Buddy too, finally sidestepping the dog with impressive dexterity. "Most gentlemen would do the right thing by their wives and wait a decent interval before making demands of them! You should have been more considerate before getting her with another, Ser. I swear, males have no self control!" She spit the last with a look of thorough disgust with him as Buddy continued to snarl, though even he was cowed by her.

Anora recovered enough to draw herself up regally and wipe away her tears. "Your Grace, remember this is your Prince you're rebuking."

Nigel turned a confused look from the angry crone to the young mage to Erlina. And then the reason for the crone's anger and Anora's happy distress hit him. Erlina nodded, guessing that he figured it out. He did some fast mental math. Not even a year. All he could do was mumble lamely, "But I...we...but we're in love." He muttered under his breath to Anora, "The Maker _does_ have a sense of humor."

She whispered back, "He certainly does test us in interesting ways." 


	3. Dangerous Liasons

Chapter 3 Dangerous Liaisons

Usual disclaimer: The characters in this chapter are owned by Bioware, EA, and probably other corporate entities, and not by me, with the exception of a roguish Prince of Ferelden.

Madame Laverna Harcourt studied her appearance in the mirror as her elven maid Iolanthe teased a long, iron-gray lock and bent it into a curl, which she pinned into a cluster of curls high on her mistress's head. Laverna had slathered on a layer of a white ointment, and covered that with a thick dusting of power to reduce the shine. All that remained was to paint her lips ruby red, add a few beauty marks, and draw delicate lines of midnight blue kohl around her eyes, but she left that to her maid, as her hands were steadier and vision was better.

Anton Jamari, one of the chevaliers assigned to serve her as bodyguards by the empress herself, leaned against the wall near the fireplace with his arms folded across his broad chest, trying not to look cold and bored, but failing miserably. His silk doublet was no match for a Fereldan spring. The other chevalier had come disguised as a merchant and had gone to the Gnarled Noble tavern, and then was to go to the Chantry in search of gossip. Anton wished bitterly to the Maker that he could have gone with him anywhere, even though it meant his immaculate boots would soon be filthy with Fereldan mud. Instead, he remained behind cooped up in this chilly room, that to him reeked of wet dog like the rest of this Maker-cursed city, even in the chambers reserved for visiting dignitaries.

Madame Laverna regarded her chevalier coolly as she turned to Iolanthe. "Bored, my Anton? Soon you shall have something to do at what passes for a high court banquet and ball in Ferelden. Perhaps you may demonstrate some dance steps that are not twenty years old. I do so love to watch you dance."

Iolanthe frowned and tsked at her mistress in a way that should have earned the elf the switch for insolence. But it was hard enough to draw a straight line, and even harder if she insisted on talking.

His handsome face contorted into an ugly sneer. "Bah! I doubt that anyone in this backwater colony would even care that there are steps that aren't twenty years old. And imagine, a court ball without masks. They might as well be naked, no?" In Orlais, nobles wore elaborate masks almost anytime they stepped foot outside their manor houses and estates, and certainly when in attendance at Empress Celene's court. Anton strode over and scowled at himself in the mirror now that it was not occupied, as if daring anything in his reflection to be out of place. He nodded with satisfaction after applying more rouge and a bit of the Madame's powder, then patting a wavy black lock that had threatened to work lose from the blue silk ribbon that held his hair behind his head. He resumed watching the ambassador.

Madame Laverna lifted her chin so Iolanthe could paint a heart-shaped birthmark near the corner of her mouth. "_Former_ colony, but there are many like us that would see that status change, though from what I've seen of Ferelden thus far, I have to question why we would want it back, no? But there are many that feel she must pay for the humiliation of her revolt. And Anton, have care with whom you share your opinion when we return. The empress opposes the idea of reclaiming our weakened Ferelden colony, so far. Still, Ferelden is ripe for the taking. Some think the Maker allowed the Blight to punish Ferelden for the sin of rebellion against his anointed king."

Changing the subject as she could tell he was in no mood for a lecture, she asked, "Have you met His Royal Highness Nigel?"

Anton stroked his long, thick mustache that grew past his chin. "I have, My Lady, this morning, playing with his dog. He knows how to dress, and would be at home in Val Royaeux even in his Fereldan fashions. His is very slight, and his looks certainly belie his reputation. It made me wonder if they are certain he himself killed the Archdemon, and not some other and he merely took the credit. That is, if I had not watched him later sparring on the practice field. He is fast, I'll give him that. I do not think he is not quite so handsome nor as tall as King Cailan was, but he is handsome enough, and has a graceful form. I wouldn't turn down an invitation to his bed, if he fancies me."

Iolanthe wiped the tiny brush she had been using and stepped back to get a better view of her mistress's face, nodding in satisfaction at her handiwork. She said in a hushed voice, "Some say that Queen Anora put an end to his carousing when they married, since she failed to do so with her first husband."

Anton replied reverently, "I remember him well. Empress Celene was quite taken with King Cailan when they met. If you could have seen him! He was so magnificent in his golden armor." Anton had been a young lieutenant in the Empress's service when King Cailan had met with their Empress Celene in an attempt to restore relations between their countries. Thus he had seen first hand what went on between them. He smiled smugly as he relayed that morsel of gossip.

"But King Cailan was not discrete enough. Somehow Teyrn Loghain got wind of his plans just before the battle of Ostegar, at the beginning of the Blight, and it is whispered that is why he withdrew his troops at a crucial moment, dooming the unfortunate Cailan and his remaining troops. But it was worse than his people know." Laverna was one of the courtiers who had been close enough to their Serene Empress to also know that their relationship went beyond a mere affair; King Cailan had been considering divorcing his infertile queen, and marrying their empress, uniting their lands. She lay that information out as if laying out her cards to trump him, giving him a satisfied smirk, as if she had just won a hand of Diamondback.

Laverna began the next round. "I am rather surprised Queen Anora did not die due to an unfortunate illness or accident first. It would have made things much easier for everyone, except for her, of course. But the late king's reputation was that of a good man despite his philandering, not the sort of man to deal with assassins. This young prince, on the other hand, had an Antivan Crow who failed to assassinate him, as a lover. We should not underestimate him."

"An Antivan Crow? Did he not also travel with a bard from Orlais?" Iolanthe looked around, though it was only the three of them in the room, before asking conspiratorially, "And yet a few say that Queen Anora keeps Prince Nigel's balls in a gold box, and that she only gives them back when she desires relations. Such was the price of his coronet."

The ambassador tittered, hardly able to contain herself. "One of our agents plied the dwarven Warden with liquor, and after a few encounters, he was all too willing to talk to his new friend about their time traveling together. He told him that this lusty prince had bedded all of his companions who would have him, male and female. All except himself, the Qunari, and Maric's bastard Alistair, the other Gray Warden. But Alistair was raised in the Chantry, and held fast to his virginity, or so the dwarf's story goes. He also said the prince and the Antivan Crow had pledged their hearts one night outside Redcliffe, exchanging earrings, and after that he ended his other affairs. But that was before he married Queen Anora. Iolanthe is correct; the queen forced him to give up his lover, as a condition of allowing him to share her throne."

She sighed as she selected a fan to attach to her gold filigree belt, actually feeling a moment of sympathy as she knew what it was to give up true love for duty. "I have also confirmed from one of our agents in the Chantry here that the Revered Mother herself attended the queen during the birth of her twins and insisted that, for the sake of her health, she and her husband cease all marital relations. Understandable, no? After all, she had a difficult birth the second time. Their twin daughters followed so soon after the birth of their first daughter as to be positively vulgar, as if she was some commoner and not the Queen of Ferelden. The pity is he is not even thirty, so young to become a eunuch."

Anton snorted. "My Lady, you know as well as I that he has not settled for a life of chastity, as the queen has done, if he is any kind of man at all. It is simple. He must have learned to be discreet, which will make all the easier for one of us to seduce him, though I am doubtful from what we've learned about him so far that he could be persuaded to help us regain our colony. He is said to be fiercely patriotic, and that makes him dangerous to our cause. He and his late father-in-law had that in common. At the most, one of us might gain some useful information from him in the heat of passion." He nodded at the pretty elven maid, though he didn't really think the knife-eared minx stood a chance next to a handsome, well-built man such as himself.

Laverna grinned broadly, this sharing gossip with her team before they set out her favorite part of an assignment. "Oh, I am sure you're right, my Anton. The bard he traveled with certainly must have taught him something about stealth in their time together, and surely his Antivan Crow as well. We also have learned he had acquired questionable skills from his days spent in the taverns of Highever. He attended only a year of university in Val Royeaux, but his tutor says he was an undistinguished student, having shown no inclination for law or theological scholarship, and spending far too much time in the taverns and chasing whores. His parents summoned him home before he could do any harm to the family's reputation."

Anton shook his head. "A typical second son. There were many like him when I was at the university. I'm surprised his father did not send him to the army then. He was probably too softhearted."

Laverna nodded in agreement. "Perhaps he would have, had the Blight not intervened. But there is more. An old elven housemaid of the Couslands said he used to drive his mother mad taking things apart when he was a boy. She said once he even took apart a clock his father had brought her from Orlais because he was curious about how it worked. His mother was so angry she banished him to his room until he put it back together, if it took him all week. The maid reported that he did so in only a few hours! Also, the queen was overheard joking when a Nevarran delegate lost a key to a chest a few years ago that there was no need to summon a locksmith when her husband was around. She has told the tale many times of how her husband picked the lock on his cell door in Fort Drakon and escaped, surprising his companions by dropping through a window from the roof as they were about to leave to rescue him."

"Ah, but did you know that the Queen's personal maid turned up pregnant at the same time as she was carrying her twins? Such a scandal! The servant said everyone had whispered her brat was the Prince's, since the wench rarely leaves the palace or her queen's side. The silly slut! One would have expected the queen to throw her and her brat out, no?" Iolanthe shook her head in disbelief. "But her child is full elven, and so couldn't possibly be the prince's. Yet the father is not any of the other house servants either. She is Orlesian, and the others think she is too haughty to associate with the Fereldan elves. My source says that because of the queen's fondness for her maid, she has not only been allowed to remain in her position, but her child has been allowed to stay in the royal nursery."

Anton gasped, "Unbelievable! An elf living with the princesses? But perhaps they are grooming the boy to serve them?"

Iolanthe studied her mistress's face and bit her lip to suppress a victorious smirk at having trumped her, which would have earned her a tight slap across her cheek. She told them she had confirmed it this morning from a few of the more simple-minded elven servants, though she added that she had to tread carefully, for the servants were uncommonly loyal to their queen and prince, who it seemed had a soft spot for elves. She added more wistfully than she intended, "He even persuaded Queen Anora to allow their Hahren a seat on her Privy Council."

An elf on the Council? Laverna couldn't believe what she was hearing, nor could she resist curling her lip in disgust at the thought of elves being treated as if they were the equal of humans. She also hated being trumped, and she said curtly, ending the discussion, "There you are wrong, Iolanthe. I am quite sure that if the brat appeared to have a human father, Queen Anora would not have hesitated to throw her out. I do not see her tolerating betrayal from one so close to her."

She stood and shook out her voluminous skirts then slipped a bejeweled bodkin into her bosom. Though this was an information-gathering mission only, she was always ready to fight. Hidden in her skirts were two stilettos that she could draw in seconds, and Iolanthe had already threaded another into the mess of curls and feathers piled on her head. She selected several gaudy rings from a chest that Iolanthe held out to her. Only a few had real gems, but the fakes were of such high quality that only an expert, jeweler or thief, could tell the difference. She picked up her favorite, a large emerald which concealed a deadly poison pill in a hidden cache, which she kept close when on an assignment in case she was trapped, with no hope for ransom or escape. Madame Laverna had spent most of her life as a bard, and had only survived this long because she learned how to play the Game well.

Anton was also in a constant state of martial readiness. He tied his long sword with a jewel-encrusted golden hilt into his scabbard, as was common courtesy when going into a royal audience, though he could free it in as much time as it took to think about doing so. But then any Orlesian who had risen to the rank of Chevalier had been ruthlessly trained in many combat styles. He was a consummate fighter; if unarmed, in seconds he knew he could improvise a weapon out of whatever was at hand, from a rock to a table leg. In his thirty-five years, he had even killed three men with his bare fists when no other option was available, though he thought that was far too messy. He scowled, as their earlier conversation came back to him, for he had risen through the ranks of the chevaliers because of his careful attention to detail. "That bard. Do you think she is still in the Prince's service? Or does he perhaps employ another?"

Laverna replied with a curt shake of her head, which caused the ringlets dangling down to her shoulders to bounce, making her suddenly look girlish. "No, Leliana returned to Orlais after the Archdemon was destroyed. You see, she had fled her mistress Marjolaine, and had been hiding from her in the Chantry in a small town here when she met the prince. Marjolaine had accused her of being a traitor to Orlais, but most who knew her believe she herself was the traitor, not Leliana. I knew her well; make of that what you will. She and her team were killed here in Denerim. Her Leliana, the Warden, the Antivan Crow, and an apostate who traveled with them were seen skulking about the Denerim Market the day before the bodies were discovered. Suspicious, no? Leliana refuses to speak of her time with the Warden, and since returning to the Chantry, she's ingratiated herself with the Divine. I believe she might be the one called Divine's 'Left Hand,' doing all the Divine's dirty deeds."

Anton stared at her aghast. "The Most Holy Justina would employ such a person? Surely not!"

Laverna patted his cheek. "You will find that the Court of the Divine is just like most courts in Thedas, my dear Anton. Do not think less of Her Perfection for doing what she must to protect the True Chantry from heretics and malificars, especially with the trouble between the mages and the templars brewing in Kirkwall."

Anton nodded. "Half of Ferelden fled to Kirkwall during the Blight, and it is said they add to the city's problems. Between that and losing over half her army during the civil war and the Blight, Ferelden has been left weak, and is ripe for the plucking." Anton had been making a critical assessment of the kingdom's strengths and weaknesses since their arrival.

He added optimistically, "From what I have seen, the people here are weary of war. I believe they would welcome us with flowers once they see the stability we can bring their land." Like many Orlesians, Anton held a great animosity towards Ferelden, even though he was far too young to remember the rebellion, and had never set foot in the kingdom until now. But reclaiming the colony presented a motive, and also presented a ready opportunity to test his combat skills. The fact that there was little for him or for Orlais to gain from attacking Ferelden, and the death and misery a war would bring to both their nations, didn't matter much to him in the scheme of things.

Laverna was old enough to remember the rebellion, though it hadn't affected her personally. She told herself she simply hated the kingdom for having the audacity to humiliate their Maker-appointed ruler. But in truth, she reveled in sowing chaos. She smiled slyly. "Indeed, she is even weaker than she suspects. Since the Prince, acting as the Warden Commander in Amaranthine, put the city to the torch when it was overrun with darkspawn, that part of the kingdom smoulders with discontent, and only the gentlest of breezes is needed to cause it to flare up."

Laverna knew for a fact that a group of Amarantine nobles had fled to Kirkwall and had been plotting a rebellion against the Gray Wardens, since Queen Anora herself was too popular to oppose openly. "The conspirators have been hunted down by the man they now call 'The Champion of Kirkwall' after he defeated the Qunari ruler—they call him the Arishok—in single combat. But surely their rebellion can't be completely dead."

Anton grinned ferally at the thought of facing a huge Qunari brute in single combat. Why couldn't he be that lucky? "They say the Champion is a Fereldan. Such a man would be a welcome ally to the queen, but like many of the refugees, he's now settled in Kirkwall. I don't think they can expect any help from there. Most of the other Fereldans still live in squalor in slums that make the alienage appear pleasant. Would they return and take up arms for their queen, even if they could?"

Laverna shrugged dismissively. "If the Fereldans had the heart to defend their land, wouldn't they have stayed here instead of deserting her when she needed them most?" She looked at herself in the mirror again, then glanced around the room to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. "Are we ready?"

Iolanthe nodded and picked up her mistress's purse, which by custom she would carry for her into the banquet, where she would spend the evening hovering just over her right shoulder waiting to serve her. But she was more than a lady's maid, being the madame's latest apprentice, acquired two years ago from a noble in Jader who Laverna had been working.

Laverna's assignment had been to steal some incriminating letters and a misplaced necklace that her client knew the mark possessed, all of which would give her client power over several noble families through blackmail and intimidation. Such was the Game. It was the way of life in Orlais. The mark suspected what she was, but the anticipation was what made the Game such a pleasure. Her assignment had gone wrong when her then assistant had decided it was time to strike out on her own and had turned on her, selling her services to the mark instead.

Iolanthe had been a young house maid then. She had learned to make herself invisible since she was little more than a girl, to avoid her master. Better to earn the switch from the housekeeper than endure what would happen if he came upon her alone again. As she had crouched hidden under a table with her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped tightly around her slender legs, waiting for him to leave the room she had been dusting, she chanced to overhear her master talking with the treacherous assistant, laying out his plan for dealing with Laverna once his guards captured her red-handed.

Fortunately for Iolanthe, they had left to consummate their bargain in a another room where they were less likely to be discovered by his wife. Iolanthe was a young but clever girl, and had quickly figured out that this presented a way for them both to escape. Her master was a fool, and hadn't been able to resist telling the pretty bard where he kept both the letters and the necklace. So Iolanthe stole them herself, though her heart was beating so loudly she was sure the guards would hear and come running.

She found Laverna, told her of the betrayal, and handed over the items as proof, asking only, "Take me with you." They had left immediately before the theft was discovered, to put as much distance between them and the mark's guards as they could. Iolanthe led the way, and Laverna was more than happy to leave the traitor behind to deal with the angry mark, who would naturally think she double-crossed him. It wasn't the first time she had escaped from an assignment with only the clothes on her back, and sometimes less.

Since that night she had dutifully served Laverna, who had also taught her to play the Game. She proved to be an apt pupil, though her one failing was that she was not as ruthless as her mistress would have liked. Some of what she had to do to get close to a mark disgusted her; she could kill if she had too, but she still shuddered when a shem put his hands on her. But they assumed it was from pleasure, not loathing. It occurred to her that the Game was a way of getting back at the shemlen who had abused her and the rest of her people all of her life. And her mistress treated her fairly well, and better yet, paid her far more than she ever would have made as a house maid. So far she had been able to send enough money to her mother and sister that they were able leave Jader and open a small shop in Val Royeaux.

Iolanthe glanced at herself and adjusted her neckline of her gown so that she was showing the proper amount of cleavage for a lady's maid. She wore only a small amount of paint, according to her station. Her primary job was to serve while she listened and observed, but not to call attention to herself. She had found that most shemlen paid no more attention to a quiet elven maid than they would to a chair, even a pretty elf. However, if she were to catch the prince or someone of note watching her, she was to look down at the floor demurely, but only after returning a hint of an invitation in her smile. She bit her lip to color it then asked, "Is there anything else we should know, Madame? One thing I am wondering is why 'The Hero of River Dane' did not train his daughter to be as fierce a warrior as he was. She would be quite formidable, no?"

"Indeed, or 'The Rebel Who Stole Our Province,' as many call him in Orlais." Laverna looked thoughtful. "Queen Anora is no warrior, which was due to her mother's wishes, but her father saw to it that she has had some training so that she could defend herself. I have heard that she appeared before the army in full armor before they marched to meet the Archdemon, and the speech she gave was particularly inspiring. Her people love her, and many would come running if she summoned them to defend their land. In that way, I believe she might very well be the equal of Moira, the so-called Rebel Queen. The question is, would enough of of her people do so to make a difference?"


	4. Triangulation

Chapter 4 Triangulation

Usual disclaimer: The characters in this story are owned by EA, Bioware, and probably others and not by me, with the exception of a roguish Prince of Ferelden and an occasional guest star.

No matter how busy they were, Queen Anora and her prince consort had agreed from the beginning that they must make time to be part of their daughters' lives, even if there were days like today, where they only had time for a short appearance in the royal nursery as their nannies fed and bathed them. Still, they told themselves this was better than nothing. It had been a custom their mothers had in common when they were growing up, especially since duty had sometimes called them away from their respective teyrnirs of Gwaren and Highever for weeks at a time.

They weren't sharing the meal this evening because they had a banquet to attend in a few hours, but they did assist with baths after the girls had eaten. They both hoped that doing simple, ordinary things, such as taking a few minutes to read to or play with them, would prevent their daughters growing up to feel closer to their nannies than to them, as was the case in too many noble families. For example, it was Anora's opinion that King Maric saw Cailan far too little, especially after the death of Queen Rowan. Calian had complained to her bitterly of feeling estranged from his father. It was an error she swore not to repeat with her daughters.

Of course, their parents hadn't had to juggle the awesome, and at times overwhelming, responsibilities of ruling over a kingdom still recovering from the Blight, with raising three small children. Anora had been an only child, and enough years separated Nigel from his older brother Fergus that at times he had felt like he was an only child as well. Neither of them had experience dealing with three toddlers demanding their attention all at once, two of them fussy because they were cutting molars. They thanked the Maker every day that they had excellent servants who did most of the work, something they freely acknowledged. They both also felt a great sense of relief some days when they could turn their brood back over to them and flee to the relative quiet of the adult world, though neither of them freely acknowledged that, not even to each other.

In addition, there were four toddlers in residence in the royal nursery counting Erlina's son, born a month after the queen's twins. Queen Anora explained after turning her father's withering glare on the few nobles rude enough to suggest the elf was being raised above his station, that her need for Erlina's service at all hours necessitated having her and her son close at hand, and justified paying for his own elven nanny from the royal allowance. But Anora's closeness with her former maid, who was now serving as her chief lady-in-waiting, was the main reason he was there, with Erlina having her own room close by. Anora couldn't bear to think of Erlina or her son living in the alienage, even if she had ordered enough improvements to be made that it now was the cleanest, healthiest alienage in all of Thedas.

Since the boy, whom his mother had named Gerard, also happened to be the son of the love of Nigel's life, he treated the boy as if he was his own son without question. This evening he was bouncing the toddler, wrapped in a towel and fresh from his bath, on his knee while Erlina ran to get him a clean nightshirt, smiling sadly at the way the boy threw back his head and laughed just like his father. He thought the boy was the spitting image of Zev too, but instead of being fair like him or dark like his mother, his hair was a bright red. But other than that, he was his father's son. Watching him made him wistful thinking about how Zev's life would have been different if his mother had lived and he hadn't been sold to the Crows. But he reminded himself that in that case they might never have met.

Nigel gave him hug and a kiss on the forehead and handed him back to his waiting mother. Zeveran had only seen his son twice in his two years, and only once while he was awake. He was still fighting to escape from the Crows, and he had explained to Erlina that it would be dangerous for her and her son if they should learn the boy was his. It was true, but it also gave him a convenient excuse to avoid being tied down to a woman with whom he had shared some pleasant nights, but had no real feelings for. Likewise, Erlina was long over her infatuation with the dashing assassin, and devoted to her son, so she readily agreed that he should stay far away from them unless he was in disguise.

"My turn!" Nigel blinked as Leanora, already strong and brash at three, frowned and tackled him, demanding his attention. He laughed, tousled her mop of curly golden hair, and swept her up onto his hip. He and Anora both had found it amusing when Ser Cauthrien had remarked a few weeks back how much the girl took after Teyrn Loghain. The odd thing was, they agreed with her, impossible as that was. Most of the nobles and courtiers swore she looked just like her mother, and sometimes they almost forgot that she wasn't Anora's child. But as Leliana had taught him years before, such was the power of suggestion. Nigel thanked the Maker for that.

He tweaked her cheek. "Why the frown, my little love?" He already knew the answer as he kissed her cheek then spun her around, causing a fit of giggles. She was a sensitive, intelligent, but demanding child, and had already expressed jealousy towards not only young Gerard, but also towards her little sisters. From some of her questions, he could tell that she was already beginning to grasp the tremendous power and responsibility that awaited her upon her mother's death. He knew if he was still alive, he would likely already have left for his Calling by then, so he wouldn't be around to help her. She had such a strong personality, the kind that he feared might lead her to become a tyrant, if she wasn't properly guided. He freely admitted he had been a lack-wit when he was a boy, even with his parents' guidance. But as a second son, no one expected him to become anything but a bann in service to his brother or a cleric or scholar, so his foolishness was tolerated. He asked himself how did parents ever do it? How does anyone?

As soon as he stopped spinning her around, the frown darkened her pretty face again. "I want to see the dancing, Papa. And you play with Gerard more than me! " she added accusingly.

"Then let us dance!" He met her blue eyes as he stepped out of her mother's earshot, but she was busy putting nightgowns on the other two girls on her lap. Lowering her so that she could stand on his boots as he danced her around the room, he said softly, "Now you know that's not true, Lee. Gerard has no papa here to play with him. Besides, he's with you and your sisters and your nurses all day, so he needs another boy to play with."

"Is that the truth?" She looked doubtful as she craned her head back to meet his eyes and held his hands tightly as they danced around. "What about when Cousin Bryce comes to visit? Gerard can play with him then." She gasped as he finished the left right left-right pattern of the dance he was doing with a jump, landing on his right foot as he lifted her into the air.

"Bryce is just a baby, love. He's far too young for any of you to play with yet." He stood her so she was beside him and took her left hand. "Now follow me. Left foot first." He pointed his toe and hummed a tune for her to follow as he led her through the steps.

He wondered for a moment what his brother would have named his son if one of the twins had been a boy. Anora had been determined to name the child she was carrying after her father. That had led to a rare argument, but it was Erlina who became the peacemaker when she pointed out that if she did, the child would inherit all of the expectations that came along with that name 'Loghain' that he would have to live up to, and in her opinion, it would be as bad as naming him 'Dane' or 'Maric.'

It was a good point, made without bringing up the notoriety now associated with the name that Nigel and her royal advisers had been tiptoeing around for weeks. She was determined not to notice that she and her husband were the only one who ever visited the statue of her father. Nigel was so grateful to Erlina that he could have kissed her. Still, he was surprised that Anora agreed. He was even more surprised that she had suggested in that case the child should be named after his other grandfather. Nigel had also suggested naming the baby Duncan or Cailan, after two good men who died without children of their own. They hadn't even thought of a girl's name right up until the day she went into labor, and then more than two days later, the Maker surprised them by giving them two daughters to name. Sometimes Nigel thought the Maker was laughing at them both.

He spun Leanora to face him after the final leap then bowed reverently to her and smiled with satisfaction as she returned a perfect curtsey. "You're still three, love. You'll have time enough for banquets and dancing when you're older. In fact, I promise you they will grow tiresome. I do think you are ready to start dancing lessons, however." He chuckled at her excited gasp. "I thought you would like that. And since you ate all of your dinner, even the squash you detest, you may be presented to the ambassadors then watch the dancing for a while from the gallery with your nanny, if you can do so quietly. But that is only if Her Majesty agrees."

She was old enough now that she was beginning to grasp that her mummy was so much more than just her mother. Nigel had explained it once to her that her mummy was like the mother of all of Ferelden. She curtsied to him again, enjoying this game of protocol. "Thank you, Papa, _Your Highness_. I shall ask her."

"You certainly have your curtseys down." He chuckled again as she beamed at him then ran off to request an audience with her mother, who had just handed off the twins to their nannies. He called after her, "Don't forget to ask what you should wear."

He strode quickly across the room to intercept the nannies before they took the twins off to bed. But little Eleanor was already rubbing her tiny fists into her eyes as she fought sleep. She had been an easy one to name, as she had been born with a healthy head of the same wheat-blond hair that Nigel had inherited from his mother. She had been a tiny baby, noticeably smaller than her second-born twin, and was still often sick and plagued by a chronic cough. When she wasn't teething, she was a quiet, shy child, whom someone had already described as serene.

"There's my sweet girl." He had been worried during her pregnancy that Anora might decide that her own child should inherit the throne, if she could figure a way around their convoluted lie. But Eleanor had also been sickly from the start, and then it was obvious from the time they started developing their personalities that she didn't have the fire in her to rule. Before she could walk she was already surrendering toys not only to her twin and her older sister, but also to Gerard. She preferred looking at picture books or drawing to her sisters' rough and tumble games. He could see her becoming a scholar in the Chantry some day, and he had already bought a complete set of Brother Genetivi's travel books that he planned to start reading to them when he returned from his mission to Orlais.

He reluctantly let her nanny take her away after giving her a kiss on her forehead and turned his attention to the other, Moira, whom Anora named after King Maric's mother, the Rebel Queen. It seemed to him that Anora had been determined to give one of her children a name to be lived up to. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely before she drew back to look at him through a curtain of thick wavy black hair that had fallen into her face. "I want to see the puppies, Papa." It was a demand, not a request. His mabari and one of Cailan's favorite bitches that had survived Ostegar had recently produced a litter, and the pups were just beginning to be playful. Moira was fascinated by the mabari kennels, and he knew it was just a matter of time before one of the pups bonded with her, like Buddy had done with him.

She stared at him, having the same piercing blue eyes and intense gaze of her grandfather, that others only imagined in her older half-sister. She really was the spitting image of Loghain Mac Tir, though few commented on it. It wasn't only his coloring she had inherited. Not too long before, they had watched her furiously riding her rocking horse, holding a wooden sword out as if charging some unseen enemy. He could see the born warrior, but her mother had other concerns.

Anora had whispered to him on their way back to their chambers, "You do think her features will soften as she grows older?"

He knew what she meant, and had reassured her, but he knew that the bards probably wouldn't write songs praising her beauty. Not that he thought she would be unattractive when she was grown. He was her father, after all. On the other hand, he could see her taking her grandfather's place as her sister's general. And as the former Warden Commander of Ferelden, he knew already she had it in her to survive the Joining. If she had been the first born twin, he could see her some day challenging her older sister for the throne, but being third in line, that was out of the question, unless for some reason when the time came, the Landsmeet didn't think Leanora was fit to rule, which was highly unlikely. That was another reason to thank the Maker.

He kissed her forehead before he replied. "I will take you to see them tomorrow, but you mustn't get too close, my little she-wolf, fearless though you are. Mabaris are war dogs, and every bit as dangerous as papa's blades, even as pups. You must always remember that."

"Yes, Papa. After breakfast then." Again, it was not a request, and she knit her tiny brows into a frown as she stared at him, waiting for a response. It wasn't the first time she had issued a direct challenge in her short life, and he knew there would be many more to come.

But he had stared down her grandfather, as well as an archdemon. His gray gaze back was like tempered steel. "First, your lessons, pup. Besides, I still have to pack for my trip to Orlais."

She gave him another fierce hug, having conceded the battle, for now. "Good. After lessons."

"It's a date." Pleased with winning the negotiation, he handed her off to her nanny and turned to see Anora giving him _The Look_ because of his promise to Leanora, which she had no choice but to agree to since he had put it all on her, and Leanora had made her request like such a proper little lady. He shrugged at her sheepishly as she was turning to order her nanny to dress her in her blue gown. Sometimes their life seemed to be a repeat of his childhood. He remembered his mother giving his father _The Look_ any time she felt he was being too lenient with him, as he often had been. He strode across the room to make amends, bowed, and offered his hand. "We should go dress ourselves, Your Majesty. We must be properly armored for the evening."

A short time later, Nigel was putting the touches on the queen's waist-length hair, still golden though it was becoming gray through the temples. He had created several braids, and he now wove them high on her head. Whenever possible, when they retired for the evening, he would unbraid it and brush it out before she went to bed. She loved his brushing her hair as much as he loved brushing it. It was as close to intimacy as they came these days besides occasional massages, which she guiltily accepted. It was also the perfect opportunity to discuss the day's events once they had dismissed the courtiers and servants. He always finished with a kiss on each cheek and on her lips before he retired to his own chamber with a book and a bottle or two of red wine, where the servants assumed he read long into the night and drank himself to sleep.

This was his routine that anyone studying or spying on the royal family would have observed, except for partaking of an occasional game of cards with the guards and a discreet visit to the Pearl once every week or two. One of his trusted courtiers would have been sent to Sanga with a coded note earlier the day, announcing his planned visit and what arrangements he required or whose service he requested. It would be an unthinkable violation of decorum for him to go out unguarded, even while slipping out to a brothel, so he always left through one of the service entrances with his hood pulled up accompanied by one or two guards wearing plain armor.

At the Pearl, they would enter through a door in the back near the kitchen. Inside he would quickly be shown to a hidden waiting room. He kept his hood up unless he was alone except for his guards, but there was an unwritten rule followed by those with coin enough to purchase the Pearl's discretion, that no one would acknowledge another patron while waiting except by a curt nod, nor would they mention anything of what had been seen or heard to anyone afterward. But his secret visits there were no secret to his wife, or to any of the servants who worked in the royal chambers. In fact, it was no secret that Anora encouraged those visits since he was denied her bed.

As far as anyone observing him knew, this had become his routine, unless there was the odd visiting ambassador or emissary for him to entertain. He resisted the charms of servants and courtiers, explaining firmly that there was a difference between hiring the services of a professional, and having an affair that might lead to embarrassment for the queen. He said he only wanted to be left alone to read in peace. But on many nights, once servants and courtiers had been dismissed so he could devote his attention to a favorite book (he learned to take care that he wasn't seen with the same book too often after one of his courtiers pointed out that he must be fond of Nevarran romances), he locked his door and changed into dark, oiled leathers and a mask and disappeared into one of secret passages, then into an unused room and out a window.

This was when Ser Wolf of Highever went to meet Ser Wolf of Rivain, if had sent a message that he was in town. By now he had others in his pack: Ser Wolf of Denerim, Ser Wolf of Gwaren, and their recent addition, Ser Wolf of the Waking Sea. Only the first knew that their leader was also the prince. With four Dark Wolfs at large in Ferelden, their exploits were beginning to take on legendary status. It also removed some of the pressure to apprehend the Dark Wolf when it became obvious that couldn't possibly be in two or three places at the same time, and therefore was being blamed for things he couldn't have done. Some even pointed out that his activities in Denerim slowed after the battle against the archdemon, leading some in the guard to speculate that the real Dark Wolf had been killed and that others were capitalizing on his name and reputation to intimidate victims.

Nigel would also meet regularly with other contacts, such Sister Seraphine, a former assassin who found her way to the Chantry (Leliana had amazed him once telling him how many 'soiled doves' had taken refuge there and lived as sisters), and the merchant Cesar, who would tell him the latest interesting stories that he had heard from other Antivans, such as who might be hiring. He was also the one who received messages for him from the other wolves. Every few months Cesar would also have word about Zev's latest slaughter of a Crow cell, and even guildmasters, which was what Nigel was really interested in. The queen knew little of these excursions, and knew nothing at all about his pack of wolves. She didn't really care to know anything other than her husband had some questionable skills that he had put into her service for the good of Ferelden. The rest was between him and the Maker, in her opinion.

Nigel's excursions weren't limited to the night either. Just this day he had taken advantage of the absence of the Orlesian delegation from their chambers to do a quick bit of snooping there, carefully replacing any traps he disarmed along his way once he finished. He waited until Erlina had tipped him off that the ambassador and her maid had left for an audience with the queen, who was also doing her best to keep her busy for him. Erlina showed the maid to the kitchens to fetch her mistress some herbal tea and introduced her to other elven servants, one of whom was one of Nigel's well-paid contacts and a talented actress, not the dim-witted maid she pretended to be.

One of his eyes in the market had been dispatched to follow the Orlesians 'porter,' and had told to watch him out of sight, make note of where he went, who he talked to and if possible, what he asked, and follow him when he left. Nigel himself had distracted the ambassador's bodyguard Anton by taking him on a tour of the kennels (he noted with concealed disgust that the Orlesian didn't appreciate a good dog), then leading him to the practice field, where he watched Nigel spar with a few of his guards. He invited Anton to face off against Ser Cauthrien. Before he left to meet the queen, he gave her a prearranged sign that confirmed the bodyguard was a chevalier and that she should hold nothing back.

It had been a very productive day. Now as he put the finishing touches on Anora's hair, with only Erlina attending her so that they could speak freely, he told his queen what he had learned. "They're most definitely interested in our defenses. Our agent was also right about the ambassador being one of those pushing hardest to reclaim their "lost province." Our good sister in the Chantry said she fed their spy some stories that would lead them to believe that we have more templars available than we really do who would leap to Ferelden's defense in a heartbeat. The sister said she also complained, since she had such a sympathetic ear, about how the Circle's loyalty was to the crown rather than to the Chantry. One of my other contacts said the porter wasn't able to find any disgruntled nobles in the tavern. That might be enough to make them think twice."

Their finery nearly always matched. This night Anora was wearing a form-fitting magenta brocade gown with black velvet sleeves and gold piping. It had taken her more than a year to lose the weight from the twins, and she was proud to show off her figure. Nigel's form-fitting doublet and trousers were made of the same black velvet as her sleeves (he wore black often enough that some dubbed him 'The Black Prince'), but trimmed with the magenta. As much effort as he put into his wife's hair, he was content to wear his in the same style he had for years, loose and hanging down just past his shoulders, with a forebraid on either side of his face, usually tied tied back behind his head with a thick black silk braided cord that he could pull off and turn into a garrote, a trick he had learned from Zev.

Anora watched him in the mirror through the corner of her eye as Erlina applied a modest amount of rouge to her cheeks, fretting that her queen was wearing no more than a servant would in Orlais. She asked coolly, "What did you think of the chevalier? Does he look as formidable at they say? And do you think it's true that the ambassador is a bard?"

Nigel kissed his wife's cheek, smirking at Erlina's muttering for interrupting her work. He gave the elf a kiss on the cheek too before he applied a bit more powder over the red stain on his lips. He considered painting a small heart on his cheek but thought better of it. He would save that for Val Royeux. "I'm quite certain. She has far too many hidden containers in her bags, and some rather nasty poisons and daggers I found secreted in one of them. She didn't have any incriminating documents, but then she wouldn't. Being a bard is an open secret in Orlais. I remember that it was considered quite exciting if someone had hired a bard to visit you, and even more exciting to thwart him or her and whoever did the hiring. I hope she can be persuaded to sing for us. She's supposed to have a remarkable voice."

Anora nodded curtly. "Will you sing for us as well, my dear?" They were going into an area she didn't care to share, but she knew she must for the good of Ferelden. "Do you think she is also an assassin? Who do you think hired her?"

Nigel paused to give her his full attention, understanding Anora was asking if the bard was going to try to murder her, that being one way to create enough chaos that they could take Ferelden easily. He tried to set her mind at ease. "A bard at her age? She _must_ be good, and I am sure she's taken more than one life, but I do believe this visit is for the purpose of espionage. Remember, from what our spies have reported, Empress Celene is opposed to going to war. And as for who hired her, certainly not the empress."

"I suppose there's no way of knowing unless you can find something in Orlais."

" No, there really isn't, unless someone talks. As for the chevalier, I gave him enough to entice him." He stood and struck a few seductive poses to demonstrate, then trailed his slender hand down his body, ending by lightly stroking himself for a moment through the tight black velvet before resuming his place before the vanity. "Then I disappointed him by not giving him a go at me on the field, and plan to do the same in the bedroom. I also set Ser Cauthrien on him when I left, and you know she hates chevaliers as much as your father did. We'll see how well he can dance tonight."

Anora watched his performance, while Erlina blushed scarlet and asked, "Does that work? Most women..."

He chuckled and resumed his primping. "Indeed, most women would find that vulgar. But not all women, m' dear. And a man looking for another man..." He shrugged. "It starts with eye contact to let one know you're interested. Men are different. We are disgusting beasts, I know."

Anora cocked her head to look over at him. "He _is_ handsome, in a rather dark, brutish way." She wasn't jealous. Their relationship had progressed from that of strangers occasionally sharing a bed for the sake of duty when they first married, to a too-brief time as passionate lovers, and finally to that of two intimate friends who shared all their secrets. And they did, as far as _she_ knew. "Why won't you meet him later?"

Nigel chuckled as he finished lining his right eye. "Meet him, my love? Do you mean why won't I invite him for an assignation later?" He paused to paint a delicate stroke on his left eye lid. "No, I think not."

Anora frowned as she studied herself in the mirror, wondering if she should give in to Erlina and let her touch up the gray that shined like silver in her hair. "Why not? Isn't he your type?"

He darkened his neat eyebrows. The chevalier was clearly her type. Most men would be jealous, but he wasn't. The real reason he had been banned from her bed was she swore after two and a half days of labor she wouldn't be put through that again. "Handsome? Should I be jealous of the brutish chevalier, my love? Perhaps you would like him to slip into your bed and ravish you?" He smirked at her blush. "Besides, you know very well I don't have a type." He was still amused at how she tried to arrange his trysts. At first she was always pushing him towards men, as if she perceived men as less of a threat to the two of them. In fact, when she had first told him he should find _relief_ for his male passions, as she put it, she hadn't wanted him doing so with other women at all.

He gave her another affectionate kiss on her cheek. "You are beautiful as always, my love. No, I'll spend the evening with another for two reasons. First, I'm not convinced I could get much about their plans out of him. He might be useful while I'm in Orlais, if I can play him, but that's about it. Second, he _is_ a chevalier, and therefore, he _is_ a brute. He couldn't get at me with that enormous mace of his on the practice field, so no doubt he hopes to give my ass a good pounding with his lesser mace. And it is lesser. I looked when we were in the privy."

Anora gasped, feigning disgust. "Nigel! Must you?" And yet it was always she couldn't wait to hear all the details when he returned from a tryst, no matter how sordid. It was as if she enjoyed a vicarious sex life through him. He knew she loved the fantasy of the chevalier coming to her chamber and ravishing her, but that it would never happen in reality.

"Yes, I must, because you asked." He stood and took the crown she was to wear tonight out of the chest where it was kept and carefully placed it in the nest of hair he had woven for it. "No, I'm thinking of either the ambassador herself, or her maid, who I suspect is her protege. She seems too young for it, though. But it's hard to tell with elves."

Erlina had spent the most time with her and agreed with his assessment. "Indeed, I noticed that she asked a good many questions and takes more liberties than an Orlesian elvish servant would, which tells us she is more than a maid, no? That's very careless, if she is a bard. She can't be very experienced."

Nigel nodded. "That's true. However, inexperience also might make her more dangerous if she thinks she's cornered. So it's either the old cat or the kitten. Perhaps the ambassador, though I don't think I'm good enough to play someone of her caliber. She is rather attractive, however. I was struck by how much she reminds me of Wynne in size, shape, and features."

Anora sneered. "Yes, I saw the resemblance too. She could be her younger sister, if Wynne was Orlesian and dressed like a high-priced harlot."

Nigel chuckled. "But my love, that's how all noblewomen dress in Orlais. The harlots themselves are chaste in comparison, except when they're among the nobility."

"That is why all the nobles wears masks, no? They wish to hide their shame." Erlina didn't try to hide her disdain for Orlesian nobility.

Though not formally a slave, she had been sent as a gift to Anora from a previous ambassador to Empress Celene, on the occasion of her marriage to Cailan, along with a note stating that now that she was queen she needed a proper lady's maid. Her father suspected that Erlina was a spy, and had wanted her sent back. But Cailan had suggested that if she was a spy, it might be better to have her close where she could be watched. So she had stayed. Then Erlina had quickly warmed to her new mistress, who treated her more kindly than anyone had in her homeland, and eventually told her the real reason she had been sent, which was to insult Anora's court by implying that a young inexperienced Orlesian maid was still better than the most experienced Fereldan courtier.

"Are we ready?" Nigel stood and looked at himself again in a full length mirror before placing a small coronet on his head. "Buddy is being brought up. I know they'll have fits when we make our entrance with a mabari beside us."

Anora took another look at herself in the mirror. "I am ready. I've arranged that the chevalier be seated beside me. You are on my right side, and the ambassador is beside you. That way you may devote your attention to her or her maid. I think I shall ask him to dance."

Nigel threw his head back and laughed. "You are attracted to him, aren't you. How many dances will he claim on your dance card? Will I get any besides the first?" He wasn't jealous, mainly because he was positive that the chevalier would rather fight a pack of blight wolves naked and armed with only a rusty soup spoon than spend an hour in the arms of a woman, even one as beautiful as his wife.

Anora flushed and turned her withering glare on him. "I grew up with horror stories about the brutality of the chevaliers. His handsome face will never cause me to forget that. I am only distracting him by playing at interest." She was mildly annoyed, but at the same time, in the back of her mind she was pleased that her husband cared.

Nigel kissed her cheek. "Forgive me, my love. Can you blame me for feeling a little bit jealous?" He smiled inwardly, knowing he was playing his part well. He bent and double checked the daggers hidden in his boots.

She blushed again and beamed at her husband. "No, I'm flattered, really. So I'm on him. Erlina?"

"I shall play the disdainful Orlesian courtier and do my best to distract her maid whenever we can find a moment to talk. After all, I am so happy to have another Orlesian elf to talk to after languishing for so long in this cold, backward land that smells of dog. And I so want to hear all the news of my homeland." Erlina smiled and curtsied to her queen and her prince.

"And I shall play the fop you were forced to marry. I don't want to be too much of a dolt, though. I don't want to scare away my prey. I'm settled on the ambassador, though I shall do my best to flirt with her maid as well. I'll get one or the other to my chamber tonight. Pity blood magic is forbidden by Chantry law. I would love to have a blood mage at our disposal to help with interrogation so we might learn how far along the conspiracy is. It would be much safer than all this subterfuge."

"Nigel!" Anora gasped in alarm and stood there with her hand over her mouth, a look of horror in her eyes. However, at the same time, her political mind was agreeing with him.

"I know, I know, my love. I was just thinking aloud. Besides, even if we could find one, could we even trust a blood mage not to turn his power against us?" The truth was, he knew very well where he could find a blood mage, but he hadn't made use of his talents yet. He would save that until there was no other option.

A firm knock at the door announced the arrival of the rest of the royal retinue, along with the crown princess and her own small retinue of her nanny and two guards. They took their positions with him on her left with her arm placed on top of his as Erlina went to open the door. Anora whispered, " Every time we enter court, I think this must be how an actor feels just before setting foot on the stage for the first time in a performance."

He whispered back, "I'm sure of it, and it's ten times worse tonight. Now smile!"


	5. Let's Dance

Usual disclaimer: The characters in this chapter are owned by Bioware, EA, and probably a lot more people, but not by me, though I feel free to take their Cousland Noble boy and his dog as my own.

Chapter 5 Let's Dance

The royal retinue waited outside the doors to the banquet hall while a fanfare blared, announcing their arrival. One of the royal heralds called in a booming voice, "All rise for Her Serene Majesty, Anora, Queen of Ferelden, Nigel, Prince Consort, Leanora, Crown Princess, and Ser Buddy, royal mabari."

The scraping of chairs on the slate floor told them the people inside were doing just that. Nigel glanced over his shoulder and smiled reassuringly at his little daughter, whose nervousness she betrayed by biting her lip, then gave Anora a quick kiss on the cheek and whispered, "We're on, love. Enter, stage right."

Anora arched an eyebrow and whispered back, "_Ser_ Buddy. That surely has given the Orlesians fits, and some of our subject as well. How did I let you talk me into that again?"

He responded dryly, "We agreed he did _earn_ it through service to Ferelden, my love." In Nigel's opinion, his dog was much more deserving of the honor than many who bore a title without having faced a single darkspawn or done anything of use for Ferelden for that matter, other than being born. However, he acknowledged he would have included himself among that number before the blight, eventually holding the title "Bann" of some portion of Highever, without having done anything to earn it, other than being the younger son of the teyrn.

On cue, they paraded slowly across the chamber, waving at the lines of cheering nobles and notable citizens who were awaiting their arrival. Anora leaned closer and whispered, "Sometimes I wonder, are they cheering for us, or because they can finally eat?"

He whispered back, "A little of both, though I'm sure they're cheering for you at least."

This processional was another part of the theater of the court. The young princess stepped bravely into her role. She and Buddy walked side by side behind her parents, overcoming her nervousness with her head held high and her hand resting securely on the back of the huge dog. As chief lady-in-waiting, Erlina followed them, with the rest of the royal retinue. The princess's nanny, who had hastily put on her good dress, came next, and was also trying to hide her nervousness at being out of the safety of the nursery and on public display. The guards followed behind her.

Once the royal family reached the high table, the prince held out the queen's chair for her before he seated himself. Buddy circled three times then curled up next to his master's chair. The retinue took their places at a table behind the high table out of sight behind a sheer curtain, ready to serve after a subtle gesture from the queen or the prince, and the guards took their places along the sides of the dais, alert for trouble. Small tables were also arranged on the dais for the servants of the Orlesian and Nevarran ambassadors, and the servants of the Arl and Arlessa of Denerim, Eamon and Isolde, and Teagan, Arl of Redcliffe, in the city with a delegation from Redcliffe.

Arl Eamon had originally stayed in Denerim to help Anora right the damage done both by the Blight and by Arl Howe (and her father, though she rarely admitted that). It was true that Anora had greatly needed Eamon's practical, thoughtful advice, but being of service to the queen was also a good excuse as any to remain in Denerim. His Arlessa had found herself too ashamed to return to face the people of Redcliffe. She rightly blamed herself for giving into her fears and putting her love for her son above the Chantry's decree that mages be sent to the towers, to prevent just the kind of horror that has struck her people.

At the same time, Arl Vaughn had never regained his health after his rescue from Howe's dungeon and had been unable (though some of the city leaders had muttered, far too incompetent) to assume his late father's duties. He had spent his final days after the battle of Denerim a wasted shell of his former self, wrapped in a blanket, even in the summer heat. He suffered from some virulent disease, made worse by having his health ruined by months of torture and starvation. But what brought an end to his miserable life was when a balcony outside his bed chamber, that had been damaged in the battle (and that he had refused to pay to repair), gave way as he leaned against the rail to throw a wine bottle at one of his elven servants, who had just quit his service. Or so the story of his servants went, though few questioned it.

Since at that time her prince was away serving as both Warden Commander and Arl of Ameranthine, and Eamon had been assuming many of Arl Vaughn's duties for some time anyway, Anora turned to Eamon as the best person to replace him. He had agreed, on the condition that he and his wife be allowed to travel to Tervinter from time to time to see their son, and that she also elevate Bann Teagan, making him the Arl of Redcliffe. That decision had been welcomed greatly by his subjects. The people of Redcliffe loved him because Teagan had taken command when his brother was incapacitated to help them fight the undead horde. At the same time, many never regained their trust in their former arl and arlessa.

It might be expected that their subjects couldn't bring themselves to forgive the arlessa once the truth about the source of the undead became known, but many of his subjects also resented and feared the arl for being alive, when so many of their own loved ones were lost to them forever, unfair, and even blasphemous, as they knew that was. It made Eamon profoundly sad, but he understood his subjects' feelings. He threw himself into the work of restoring his new arling, and his arlessa kept herself busy assisting the Chantry with several charities, which served as a balm for her guilty soul, and gave her something to do she waited for letters from her son. The queen had also turned to her as a source of information about Orlais, once she learned that Isolde had no great love for her homeland. They were always seated at the high table with the queen at events such as this.

As the queen had promised, while the servers were bringing in in the soup course, she presented Leanora to the the nobles and the ambassadors. She was pleased by her tiny daughter's bright smile and charm as she complemented the Nevarran ambassador's sweeping mustache and his wife's pearl-studded hair. She asked the Orlesian ambassador about the custom of wearing masks in Orlais, stating her desire to travel there some day, and even adding a few Orlesian words that she had learned from Erlina. Anora recognized her own mannerisms in the girl. It was as if she had been studying her in the times she had been among other noble adults and was now simply repeating what she had learned. Leanora even charmed the Orlesian ambassador's bodyguard by declaring, "Oh, Ser Anton, you are so tall, and you have such pretty dark eyes! I think you're as handsome as Arl Teagan!"

Anton bowed deeply to the girl, the peacock feather in his hat brushing the floor. "You are too kind, Your Highness." He gave her a smug smile, applauding her good taste in men for one so young, not only for noting his own handsomeness, but also because he had noted Arl Teagan's handsome face and brawny chest too. His first impression was that she was a pretty, well mannered child, who he could tell would grow into a handsome woman some day, if she lived that long. But she was very young. It occurred to him then that perhaps once they regained the colony, it might be better for Orlesian tutors to mold the child into a proper puppet queen in service to Empress Celene, which would go far towards quelling resentment in the Fereldan rabble. It was certainly something to consider.

Arl Teagan blushed profusely even as he dropped to one knee and took and kissed her hand then declared, "Ah, Your Highness is indeed too kind. If only you were three and twenty."

The princess giggled and gazed into his warm brown eyes. "That's so old! But if I was all growed, then I would want you to be my prince, Arl Teagan."

Anora smiled again, also pleased at her daughter's taste in men. She motioned her nanny over, who curtsied and clutched at her skirts nervously, studying the floor to avoid eye contact with the nobles surrounding the queen. "I have decided that Princess Leanora will be allowed to sit at the retinue's table until she is ready to be taken to bed." Her daughter gave out an excited gasp and clasped her hands in excitement. Anora thought she would be out of sight, but able to watch the banquet through the gauzy curtains. She decided it was time the girl started learning the nuances of state affairs, and she would spend some time with her tomorrow going over what the child observed.

This springtime banquet was a simple affair anyway, unlike the feasts of eight courses or more that took place in the winter and lasted late into the evening. To allow more time for dancing, the dessert course was to be served as a buffet where the dancers could refresh themselves. The nanny curtsied and led the princess away, relieved to be getting out of the spotlight, though she cursed her luck that she still would be trapped for the evening with the snooty courtiers instead of escaping with her young charge to the relative quiet of the balcony.

Now it was time for Nigel to give his wife _The Look_. Was she trying to one-up him in showing their daughter leniency? He could hardly disagree with her in public because not only would that be vulgar, but moreover, because she was his queen. Perhaps it had been unfair, but she also had been the disciplinarian so far. He wasn't sure if he wanted his daughter exposed to the politics of court at such a tender age. Yet as he thought about it for a moment, he saw the reason in her command, and he offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker for her wisdom.

She had expressed her opinion to him more than once that she felt Cailan had been unready to rule when his father died, because Maric had isolated him from court politics as much as possible, in what she felt was a misguided attempt at protecting him. He had occasionally accompanied his father on travels to his nobles, but that was it. He was raised in a sheltered fantasy world of books filled with tales of glorious battles of the past. On the other hand, she had told Nigel that she had been raised by her parents to assume a position of authority and be a servant to duty from the time she could walk. She was sheltered from little, and had known from when she was no older than her oldest daughter that she would be the next teyrna of Gwaren. She had been expected by her parents to conduct herself accordingly.

But not to be outdone, because he was the lenient one after all, Nigel motioned one of the courtiers over and said softly, yet loud enough for the queen to hear, "Please reserve the second dance for my daughter, since she's going to be close by. She can be taken to bed after that." He turned and smiled sweetly at Anora.

Teagan was also close enough to overhear. "If your Majesty will give me leave, I would like very much to claim the first dance with our little princess then." The first dance was a slow processional following the left-right-left-pause pattern, a chance for the dancers to show off their finery, so it would be easy for him to guide the child.

"There will be a good many disappointed ladies in that case," Anora replied with a raised eyebrow and a tight smile as she gazed around the hall, knowing that indeed many in attendance were hoping Teagan would ask them for the first dance. She had dropped subtle hints since his elevation, which were now becoming less subtle, that for the sake of his arling the confirmed bachelor needed to find a suitable arlessa. And for the first time, she wondered how far her husband's friendship with him went, not that she was jealous. However, she believed as his queen she had a right to know if there was no woman alive would ever be suitable to the arl. She made a mental note to draw it out of her husband in her chamber later.

Nigel had already told her that he and Teagan had become friends while he and his companions helped him defend Redcliffe, and their friendship was reinforced when Teagan and his troops accompanied the Wardens on their forced march to Denerim. Nigel had tried to explain to her how fighting side by side with someone creates a different kind of bond, that can't really be understood by anyone who hasn't experienced it. That was why he was so protective of Alistair, and why he took the time away from his duties to get drunk with Oghren whenever he was in the city. She knew he missed his Zevran, but he had confessed that he missed them all terribly now that their lives had taken different directions, even the strange Sten of the Qunari, who was one of the few people she had met in her life that had made her feel afraid. She had seen the same distant look in Nigel's eyes when he talked about that time spent on the run across Ferelden, in her father's eyes one time right after King Maric's death when he reminisced with her about his travels with him, fighting the Orlesians.

The Orlesians. Her father's horror stories she had grown up with of their reign of terror broke her reverie, and she remembered she had to be on her guard, no matter how charming this brood of vipers seemed, and resumed her part in their plan. She took a breath and smiled brilliantly at the ambassador's bodyguard Ser Anton, hoping she was a good enough actress to look at him as if she thought him the most interesting man in the world, or at least in this chamber. "Our tradition is that I dance with the Arl of Denerim during the second dance, but since his gout has been troubling him, that duty falls to Teagan, and I therefore find myself in want of a partner for the third."

Anton bowed deeply, pleased with himself that he had made an impression on this Fereldan queen. She wasn't half bad either, in his opinion, a handsome woman approaching her middle years, and certainly more regal than he had expected, despite having a mere commoner for a father. He would much rather get Arl Teagan alone somewhere, but if he could seduce the Queen of Ferelden tonight or over the next few days, so much the better. He asked himself how could she resist him, when compared with the choices she had. Her prince and the arl were among the best he had observed in this assembly. The prince wasn't so bad, he supposed, having a wiry, boyish figure, narrow hips, a tight ass, finely chiseled features that displayed his noble heritage, and long, slender hands. Of the two, however, the broad chested, hard-muscled Arl Teagan was much more to his taste. And that beard! It hadn't taken him long at all to learn that the man was a bachelor, and it would only take a moment of conversation to tell if he was interested in him as well. But he would save that for later.

He turned to Anora and lingered over a kiss on her offered hand. "I would be deeply honored to claim the third dance, Your Majesty."

Nigel placed his raised left palm against Madame Laverna's so they could turn in two tight circles before they reformed a line with the other dancers. "No, I regret I won't be able to join the hunt tomorrow, Madame. I would dearly love to spend some more time in your company, but I must finish packing, and I made a promise to one of my daughters that I must keep before I leave."

Anora, dancing ahead of them, turned her attention away from Ser Anton, who had lost himself in a long rambling story about his exploits on the empress's hunting grounds. Maker's breath, but the man could talk about himself, and she had no doubt that half of what he said could be used as Orlesian fertilizer. She channeled her boredom into her acting as she arched an eyebrow and picked a fight with her husband, making sure the ambassador could see her. "Nigel, you cannot still trying to decide which hats to take."

Nigel replied to her scolding tone with an annoyed frown, which the ambassador noted made his thin face look rather feral. "I was, my dearest, but it occurred to me this morning that I need not pack more than one or two, since of course I simply must be seen in the latest fashion in _Val Royeaux."_

Madame Laverna struggled not to sound condescending as she replied, "But of course. The hats that I've seen here have been out of fashion in _Val Royeaux_ for a decade or more. And in addition, you must purchase masks, no? No one of any standing would think of setting foot outside without one."

Anora began to roll her eyes as the couples passed in a wider circle but caught herself and stopped, though not before the Orlesians noticed, which was exactly what she had intended. "Whatever happened to your plan that you would showcase Fereldan fashions on this visit, dearest?"

Anton didn't even try to suppress a shudder as he took her hand again. "Fereldan fashion? A decade out of style at least," he muttered. Once they reclaimed their province, and installed some proper Orlesian nobles into the arlings and bannorns, they would correct any Fereldan nobles who demonstrated their loyalty and were allowed to remain in power. There were a great many things to correct here, the very least of which was fashion. For one thing, he had observed everywhere he had gone so far that servants didn't know their place at all, nor did commoners, for that matter. And the elves were the worst of all—there was a flame-haired slut from the alienage here tonight who had been seated among the nobles, as if she was human. He didn't care that she served as the elves' leader, or that for some unfathomable reason the queen had even appointed her to her council. It was brazen effrontery that sickened him to his soul. They would need at least a division of chevaliers to set things right, by brute force if necessary.

Nigel pouted over his shoulder at the queen as he and the ambassador circled again. "But my dearest darling, I won't be in _Denerim_. You want me to make a good impression, don't you?" He added, as if an afterthought occurred to him, "Oh don't worry, I'll make sure to purchase a trunk of the latest hats and gowns for you and the girls, dearest. Perhaps the empress can advise me."

Anora let out an exasperated sigh as she passed on his right again, hoping it wasn't too much. After nearly six years of marriage, she understood her husband's game and why he acted the dandy, and she willingly played her part of long-suffering wife, when required to do so. As he had explained, people let their guard down when they thought him a fool. It was the only way for them to forget he was also a notorious killer of darkspawn, dragons, an archdemon, and more people than either of them cared to think about. His acting the fool made it easy to dismiss his reputation as either luck, having taken credit for what his companions had really done, or simply being the Maker's instrument. She replied, trying to sound annoyed, "Do what you think is best, _dearest_. But do remember to stay within your allowance."

"Of course, my Queen," he replied, as if he was saying, "Yes, Mother." Nigel leaned close and whispered in the ambassador's ear, brushing her earlobe, "It's a good thing I have my own money."

He kissed her hand and bowed as the song ended. "Pity I am leaving before we can get better acquainted, Madame Laverna. I would have liked to have you," he paused deliberately for a breath as he gave her exposed bosom an appreciative leer as he rose, "accompany me on a tour of city." He decided Anora was right about her resembling Wynne, that is if Wynne had ever shown this much skin or worn an inch of paint. She was still a very attractive woman, even if she was old enough to be his mother, or even grandmother. But her age wouldn't stop him from playing the game.

The ambassador fanned herself, giggling like a schoolgirl for a moment, then scrutinized him like a cat eying a plump young mouse. "Oh, your Highness, I would have been delighted to show you an evening of pleasant diversions, and those of my homeland as well. Perhaps we may rendezvous when I return to Val Royeaux, if you are still in the city?"

He smiled kindly at her silent elven maid, who had slipped up to them, bringing her mistress a goblet of wine. She replied to him with the faintest of smiles. He had been watching the girl all evening out of the corner of his eye, and he had concluded that her attention during dinner was focused much more on the talk at the high table and among the nobility than on awaiting her mistress's next command. In addition, he had observed more than once her quietly trying to catch the eye of Teagan and some of the other nobles in attendance, without overtly flirting. But most of all, he noticed she had disappeared during the first three dances, no doubt doing some snooping while everyone was busy here, and few guards were on duty anywhere but at the gates and near the nursery. It was what he would be doing. The girl was surely another bard too, or at least a bard in training. He also reminded himself that she was probably not the girl she appeared to be. It was hard to tell with elves. He angered Zevran once when he pointed that out, but it was true.

He turned his attention from the comely elven maid and gave the ambassador's bosom another appreciative leer, knowing that she wouldn't be showing that much unless she demanded that men look. "Nothing would please me more, Madame. I'll be staying with the Gray Wardens while I'm in Orlais." He had declined the empress's offer of accommodations in one of her palaces by claiming a prior invitation to stay with an old friend, as well as his duty to the Wardens. It was a breech of etiquette, but nothing the Orlesians wouldn't expect from an ill-mannered Fereldan. Besides attending to Warden business and reuniting with Alistair, being surrounded by Gray Wardens prevented the Orlesians from making him a permanent "guest."

Madame Laverna smiled, thinking she might get some use out of this young fop. It was indeed a pity (but also strange now that she thought about it) he was leaving so soon after her arrival, but there was still tonight. It wasn't lost on her either how eager this Fereldan puppy was to return to Orlais, where she was sure once free of his wife's leash, he would resume a life of debauchery in no time, not unlike any Orlesian nobleman of his generation. Queen Anora was formidable, but it occurred to her that this spoiled pup might be persuaded to rule as regent for his daughter under the banner of Orlais, if something unfortunate should happen to his wife. For the good of Ferelden, and for the good of his family, of course. She hadn't forgotten that he was a Gray Warden, but the more she talked with him, the more convinced she was that his fame was not earned on his own. So little was known about the order's recruitment practices. Perhaps his father had been able to buy his son an exception to the Joining.

She gave his body her own appreciative leer as he escorted her to the dessert buffet, ending by staring at his tight trousers and noting that like many young Orlesian noblemen, he appeared to stuff them. Or perhaps not, as her gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer. He really was a brash young pup if he was hard from a brief flirtation. This pup was more like... She cocked her head at him. "I have an idea of just the mask for you, Your Highness. Might I suggest a wolf?"

Nigel tittered merrily and put his slender hand over his mouth at the thought, though his heart turned to ice. How much did she know? Had he underestimated her completely? Was she that good? He had to know. "A wolf, me? Maker's breath, Madame Laverna! Don't you think everyone shall expect me to wear a dragon mask? I shouldn't want to disappoint them." He tried to look thoughtful. "But I do like how you think, Madame. Yes, something unexpected! A black wolf mask perhaps, to wear to one of the empress's balls?"

He watched her eyes for a reaction, but she either was indeed very good, or she wasn't suggesting that he was the Dark Wolf. He prattled on, "I had been thinking of getting a mabari mask made, since I am a good Fereldan. And then I'll need half a dozen plain silk masks in a variety of colors to match my clothing, for everyday wear. Can you recommend a mask maker before I leave?"

The more she spoke with him, the more Orlesian he sounded to her. "But of course, It would be my pleasure, Your Highness."

He grasped her hands and smiled brightly at her. "Splendid! I do wish you were going to be there to go shopping with me! The shoes! The silks! I was also thinking that if I do purchase a wolf mask, you should allow me to buy you a lamb mask in the event that we _rendezvous_ in Orlais."

"A lamb?" She raised an eyebrow as she accepted a small cherry tart from him and handed her goblet back to her maid, wondering what he was getting at. Was he being ironic, or making a less than subtle crack about her age?

He leaned close, slipped an arm around her waist, and pressed himself against her thigh, his breath hot in her ear. "Yes, a lamb. The better for a big black wolf to eat you, my dear. I think you look absolutely delicious."

The room grew suddenly silent and everyone began to bow as Queen Anora and her ladies swept in, escorted by her partner Anton, and approached the buffet. Erlina was at her side immediately with a crystal goblet of water and a small plate with a few of her favorite cakes. She fanned herself, flushed from dancing, as she accepted them and thanked her. She took her leave of Anton and approached Nigel, who stepped away from the ambassador trying to look guilty and bowed deeply when she reached him. She waited for him to rise before she spoke. "There have been requests for the Remigold, but I think I shall observe the other ladies dance then take some air before I retire to my chambers. Can you see to our guests?"

Nigel bowed graciously. "But of course, my dearest. However, the Nevarrans have requested the Saltieri. Don't you want to watch the men dance for your pleasure?"

Anton couldn't hide his pleasure at hearing that. It had begun as a vigorous peasant dance in Nevarra, danced mainly by men holding scarves in their off hand and blades in the other, which were used to feign attacks, which led sometimes "accidental" injuries or death. The Saltieri had become popular in Orlais, though in the current version the men danced only holding opposite ends of ribbons or scarves and rarely danced with live steel. The dance offered the participants a chance to show off their nimble footwork and skill to the ladies (and men) watching. It also offered a chance to flirt with the man opposite them. Anton found himself hoping he could arrange to dance across from Arl Teagan.

Anora rubbed her temples and suppressed a sigh. "I am getting a headache, but I shall stay for that at least. I wouldn't wish to offend the Nevarrans."

Nigel frowned with concern, suspecting she was probably just weary of her companion, but knowing her back was probably bothering her too, not to mention her feet in her tight dancing shoes. Normally, anyone with any sense would back off, but not this Orlesian brute. He took her hand. "Shall I come to your chamber later and massage your temples?"

Anora shook her head, getting back into character. "No, there's no need for your attendance tonight. Stay and enjoy yourself." She knew she wouldn't likely see him until early in the morning, before her morning walk. Sometimes she envied his freedom to skulk about at night and then sleep in late the next morning. Though she longed for a back rub from him, as well as a chance to talk about the day's events, she wanted him free to do what he had to do. She assumed he would bed the ambassador, though she had observed her maid trying to get him to notice her all evening too. She was glad she wouldn't have to go to such an extreme with Anton. But then again, her husband's freedom bothered her more than she wanted to admit. It was nothing for a man in his position to have another bastard, but for her...

Nigel bowed formally and forced himself back into character. "As you wish, Your Majesty." As he turned, he grinned at the ambassador like a school boy who had been dismissed by his tutor for the day.

Anton observed the exchange between them and thought to himself that he was thankful he was unmarried and a chevalier, with all the privilege the rank afforded him in Orlesian society, and not a mere noble lapdog. There were plenty of those at the empress's court, licking at her feet for scraps of favor, as that was the only way they could gain advancement. But he knew an opportunity when he saw one, even if it meant licking a Fereldan's feet. He offered his hand to Anora as they walked off. "Let me escort you onto the balcony, Your Majesty. I haven't finished telling you of the extensive wine cellars at Chateau Montfort."

Anora struggled to remove the strain from her smile. "Yes, by all means."

Her first impression had been that Orlesian was very handsome and well built, and she had expected him to be cultured and well-read, not to mention sophisticated. Wasn't their biggest complaint about Ferelden the lack of sophistication? Instead, he talked of nothing but himself, his skill at hunting, tournaments, and fashion, and how terrible everything was here, and how much better everything was in Orlais. She really didn't know how Nigel suffered fools as easily as he appeared to, and normally she didn't have to. At the slightest gesture, one of her courtiers would be at her side to deliver her from the offending party. She had thought she was rid of him for the evening with the headache excuse.

But she reminded herself that this might be an opportunity to try to trick him into revealing their designs on her kingdom. She forced her brightest smile. "I would be delighted, though we have an escort of my ladies and my personal guard. But I will see to it that they maintain a distance so we may have some privacy to talk."

Nigel turned back to the ambassador as his wife walked away. "Shall we, m'lady? Do you dance the Remigold?" He offered her his arm, and nodded again at her maid, who seemed to be in a quiet competition with her mistress for his attention.

She took his arm. "How quaint. The Remigold hasn't been popular in Orlais in years, but I do recall the steps."

Nigel grinned wickedly at her as they walked back into the ballroom. "I'm pleased. It's one of my favorite dances to watch, with all you ladies prancing about faster and faster to keep up as the musicians play faster yet, and all the bouncing bosoms and flying skirts that entail. I daresay I've seen more than once a lady in too low cut a gown show more than she intended!"

As Nigel had predicted, the Remigold provided a few of the men watching with a hoped-for glimpse of breast and leg. The former belonged to Bella, who was now a leading citizen of Redcliffe and here as a member of Arl Teagan's delegation. She was not only part owner with Nigel of the tavern, but also the newly elected mayor. Nigel and a few of the men watching near him were rewarded with a brief glimpse of a perfect brown nipple before she broke from the dance and rushed to the side, hands covering her chest. "Ah, sweet Bella," he murmured, and asked himself why he had never pursued a night in her arms all those years ago as he stepped forward to block her from view. But as he reached her, he noted that the only one blushing more profusely than the lady in question was her arl, who had also rushed to her aid.

He turned his back to give them some privacy, trying not to lose sight of his Orlesian prey, then chuckled softly, happy for them both. He also couldn't wait to break it to Anton, whom he noted was still pestering his poor wife across the hall, though his tongue had been hanging out all evening every time he saw Teagan. Not that Nigel blamed him one bit for that. At least he had some taste. And speaking of Teagan... Nigel murmured "You old dog," over his shoulder. Nigel saw enough in the way Bella and Teagan were behaving with one another that he suspected his wife might have a suitable arlessa within the year, one that he knew would be one heartily welcomed by the people of Redcliffe. That was, if he gave him a little nudge before he left. One thing he knew about his friend that few others knew was that despite his looks and position, Teagan had always been ridiculously shy and awkward around women in whom he was interested.

Sometime later Anora was still finding Ser Anton very annoying, though her annoyance was mollified by her having been able to get him to talk, in detail, about the opinion of many in positions of power in Orlais (or so he claimed), that everything Ferelden had been run so much more efficiently when Orlais ruled, and that many of his countrymen felt that Ferelden would be better off if Orlais was in charge now. She also got him to admit that Queen Celeste hadn't been persuaded to this opinion yet. He even expressed the view of many of his countrymen that the Blight was considered a punishment from the Maker for the Fereldans' rebellion against His chosen king.

What was better yet, he didn't seem to be aware of how much he had betrayed as they talked in the chilly evening air. That was probably due to plying him first with copious amounts of Nigel's potent Antivan brandy, while the brandy she drank had been heavily diluted with water. As a result, all she had to do was smile like an idiot, encourage him to talk, and agree with him, though she expressed her agreement in terms of wanting to establish stronger ties with Orlais, for the benefit of both countries. Feeling triumphant, she couldn't wait to tell her husband what she had learned, without even having had to resort to sleeping with the Orlesian. Not that she would have gone that far, but it would be a good thing to let Nigel know she would have considered it.

Yet the progress she made was still tiresome, and it was made worse by his clumsy attempts to take her hand, or by leaning in too closely, forcing her to step back to remind him of his place. Did he really presume he could seduce her so easily? Surely he wouldn't think of behaving so outrageously with his own queen! She longed to interrupt him when she couldn't take one more minute of his insults to her beloved Ferelden. She could even hear herself silencing him by saying, "I should have thought in that case that Orlais should have been glad to be rid of such a cold, muddy, backwater province. In addition, even you must admit that the Fereldans might not have revolted in the first place if Meghren hadn't been such a thoroughly corrupt and despicable king, who displayed a complete and utter disdain for his subjects." Yet she didn't, even though by now her head really was pounding. Anora was nothing if not a diplomat. Still, enough was enough. She wasn't greedy for another victory.

Erlina had been watching her queen from the shadows, and at a subtle gesture, which was Anora acting as if she was flicking something off her left sleeve, she was at her queen's side with a prearranged lie. She curtseyed before she spoke, then added a touch of alarm in her voice. "Excuse me, Your Majesty, but you are needed in the nursery." It occurred to her that she and her queen hadn't discussed the prearranged excuse beyond this, and she prayed the Orlesian wouldn't question her out of concern or more likely, boorishness, or worse yet, assume he could accompany them into the royal apartments.

Anora feigned an alarmed gasp after hearing the signal, then took the Orlesian's hand and dismissed him, not giving him an excuse to linger. "Thank you for a diverting discussion, but my children need me." She quickly turned on her heel, and with Erlina strode away, with her ladies and guards falling in behind her, careful not to let out a sigh of relief until she was sure she was out of hearing distance. She hoped Nigel was fairing better with his prey.

Anton stood with his mouth open, watching them hurry away. It occurred to him after a few moments that he should have insisted on accompanying her; damn that otherwise excellent brandy. In his experience, a woman wanted a man to assert himself. A powerful woman like her needed a man to be forceful, something he was certain she didn't get from her husband. She was shy about his advances because he had found it nearly impossible to get her out of sight and earshot of her entourage, let alone accompanying back to her chambers for some privacy. He had been certain that once there, he could remind her she was merely a woman, despite her crown.

Yet he realized a great sense of relief now that that part of his plan for the evening was over. To be honest with himself, he wasn't sure he was a good enough actor to bed a woman, even a moderately attractive one such as the queen. Perhaps if he closed his eyes and thought of Teagan... He grinned thinking about the arl. The evening wouldn't be a total loss. If he hurried, he should have just enough time to get back for the Saltieri before Arl Teagan found another partner. Even if he was late, he would certainly be back in time to watch him dance.

The ball was winding down, though many of the revelers would remain until early in the morning, some enjoying the queen's food and wine, and some hoping to find someone to bed.. Anton leaned against the wall with an expression of profound disappointment on his face, as the handsome Arl Teagan hadn't responded to any of his witticisms, smiles, or interested looks. He finally gave up, deciding bitterly that the Arl should have saved him and no doubt many others before him the trouble and joined the Chantry, if he was determined to live as a monk. As there was no one who interested him left in the ballroom, he signaled Madame Laverna, hoping she would call it an evening so he could get some sleep and take out his disappointment on Fereldan wildlife at the next day's hunt. He wasn't even consoled by the news that Arl Teagan would be leading the hunt, as the queen and prince had prior obligations. No doubt the commoners from his arling, who surrounded him constantly, would be included in his hunting party, and he could think of nothing worse than being forced to be civil to Fereldan rabble.

The prince was speaking with the departing Nevarran delegation. Madame Laverna wondered if he would be back. He had danced the Saltieri with the Nevarran ambassador's son, and to her practiced eye, there were definitely sparks flying between the two. But then she also saw sparks flying later when he danced with the Nevarran ambassador's wife. The more she was around the prince, the more Orlesian he seemed. But then he turned and noticed her watching him from across the room and waved lightly and nodded in a way that told her he hadn't forgotten about her. She was cynical enough, however, that his smile merely told her he hadn't found a better offer elsewhere.

Madame Laverna's inclination was to leave Anton to sulk, but in her experience, that might make him unpredictable, and she didn't want to have to deal with a diplomatic incident during her stay. She approached him while her quarry was still occupied with the Nevarrans. "Why don't you go up to bed, my Anton? Iolanthe has already left, the better to do a bit of snooping tonight, and I'm still working the prince." She was careful not to imply that his service was no longer needed for the evening, so as not to offend the chevalier's pride.

He scowled, not realizing how fearsome that made him look. Anyone remaining who might have been interested in him would certainly be put off my his murderous expression. "I might as well, if you have no further need of my protection, Madame." He turned his glare over at the prince, with his ever-present hound beside him, still too skinny and effeminate for his tastes, except at this hour of the night when he had no other prospects. He wouldn't be surprised if the prince screwed his hound. He wouldn't put that past a Fereldan.

She wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of brandy on his breath, and was hesitant to turn him loose in his condition. If she had known he couldn't hold his liquor, she would have sought out someone else to accompany her. Bed would be the best place to get him safely out of her way, if she could get him there. "I can handle the prince. Better you save your energy for the hunt to show these Fereldans what they 'ave to face, no?"

He bowed, stumbling slightly. "As you wish, Madame."

She wondered as he stalked off whether he would have any better luck with the hunting tomorrow, since he was sure to be hung over. Madame Laverna swayed back to the prince, who had finally taken his leave of the Nevarrans. She curtsied and glanced over at her departing bodyguard. "Anton is going to bed, and so I wished to thank you for a delightful evening before I retired, Your Highness."

Nigel bowed and kissed her hand, looking disappointed. "So soon? Now that I'm finished with my official duties, I was about to invite you to a game of Hearts and Daggers in the Nevarrans' chambers." One of the servants had brought him a bottle and two goblets on a tray. He frowned and muttered, "I see Anora has been at my brandy," as he poured the golden liquor into the goblets. "Or we could go _somewhere_ and enjoy this fantastic brandy and have our own game of Diamondback. What say you, m'lady?" He smiled in a most disarming way as he offered her one of the goblets, and took the other and the bottle from the tray.

She accepted the goblet, sniffed it, and leaned close. "We could go back to my chambers. I have an excellent bottle of wine I brought with me that tastes of spring strawberries and a desire demon's kiss. I'm not sure we could find much privacy there, however. Pity that there are still too many in Ferelden who oppose giving Orlais a permanent embassy. We would have much more room for privacy there."

He took a deep whiff of the brandy, which always reminded him of Zevran, before taking a delicate sip. He spoke just above a whisper. "A wine that tastes of a desire demon's kiss? Intriguing. Hmm, if it's privacy we want, what better than my room? Too bad your girl has gone to bed, but if you wish to fetch your wine yourself, I'll meet you on the third floor landing in the east wing. I have another room up there, for when I need more privacy than I can find in the royal apartments. Are you game?"


	6. A Friendly Game

Usual disclaimer: Some of the characters in this chapter are owned by Bioware and a lot of other corporate people and not me, though I feel free to claim their Cousland boy and his dog as my own.

Chapter 6 A Friendly Game

He didn't have much time to prepare. Nigel sent Buddy back to the royal apartments, dropping down first to give him a few friendly pats as he whispered, "There's a good boy. Stay outside Anora's door in case that Orlesian brute decides to annoy her again. Not that the guards will let him through if she doesn't wish company, but if you see him, have at him." The large dog nodded his head as if he understood. He nuzzled Nigel then bounded up the stairs.

He grabbed a handful of the first spring roses from a vase on a hallway table, then hurried up stairways and down corridors, until he reached the third floor landing in the residential wing of the castle. He lay one of the roses there, and quickly stripped the petals from another. Placing a few petals carefully on the carpet, he fashioned a sign that would be recognized by a practiced eye, and then repeated the sign further on. He also left other signs besides the odd cluster of rose petals, such as turning one of the portraits slightly askew so that the top of the frame pointed in the correct direction, and then doing the same with an ancient spear on an armor display near the storage closet leading to the hidden room. Finding the secret entrance inside it he would leave to her.

He had found the room by chance, while skulking about in the passages within the castle's thick walls. He had noticed a waver in the flame of the lantern he was carrying, and then on further exploration, his nimble fingers found the telltale outline of an entryway in the wall. The door was hidden in the shadowy passage in plain sight. It was impossible to know when the room it led to had been partitioned, with the front portion, that opened on a hallway leading to the servants' quarters, having been converted to a storage closet used by household staff. But behind the brooms, dustpans, and other cleaning supplies in the small room was a hidden door that led to a windowless chamber, furnished only with a wardrobe, a pair of antique chairs and round table, and a bed, which was big enough for two, if they lay close. The only other way in or out was though the other hidden door, which led to the maze of passageways inside the castle.

Once he spent several hours removing the dust sheets, doing some cleaning, and sneaking in some fresh bed linens, Nigel had a place for clandestine encounters. This was his private love nest, where Nigel met Zev the few too many times in the years since his marriage that his love had managed to come to Denerim. The Antivan was the only one who knew about the entrance in the wall, hidden behind a painting of some forgotten king, as well as hidden entrances into the castle itself. This was a breach of security, but he trusted Zev with his life, and with the lives of his family. Everyone else who had been invited here, for either a tryst, or more often a clandestine diplomatic meeting, had entered through the front door in the closet.

Even Anora had once come that way, accompanied only by Erlina, to satisfy her curiosity. Nigel had tried to keep to his vow that there would be no more secrets between them, and so he had told her about the room soon after his discovery, as his way of being true to his word. Not that he told her about the back entrance. Anora had told him she liked the idea of having a place where negotiations could be conducted outside the scrutiny of the court, as long as it was under her direction. She didn't care what other uses he made of the room. So it was all his.

Zev was also the only one who knew about the cache of drugs and poisons in a drawer with a false bottom in the wardrobe. After all, he was the one who had sent Nigel most of the stock, as Nigel had little aptitude for alchemy. He frowned after he lit a few candles then held up his carafe of brandy to the light and peered at the contents. The bottle he kept in the closet in his chambers was empty, so Anora must have sent here Erlina to fetch this one, which he had prepared in advance for tonight. He sighed and muttered, "Not replacing that was careless of me. I'm going to have to have a talk with Anora so that she knows not to touch anything in here without asking me first."

Fortunately, it hadn't been poisoned, just laced with a drug that compelled the victim to tell the truth. So much for not keeping secrets. He knew his wife well—she only drank wine, and that was usually diluted with water or fruit juice, in the Antivan fashion. If she had been drinking his brandy this evening, he knew Erlina first would have diluted it heavily. Still, the effects of the concoction he had added to it lasted for hours. If she had gone straight to bed, he was confident she would sleep off the effects. He would think about how to approach that problem later. For now, he had to finish his preparations.

He guessed his quarry would arrive in about half an hour, after she met with her accomplices and freshened up. That was if she was good enough to find the trail he left for her, but he had little doubt there. He was more confident that her vanity would lead her to take a quick sponge bath and perhaps change her small clothes, as he now did, after stripping quickly and laying his clothing across the back of one of the chairs, folding his doublet and trousers neatly.

He kept a few changes of clothing in the wardrobe. Nothing fancy, just a pair of boots, a few white silk shirts, trousers, and a doublet made of the plain black linen he favored for everyday wear, as well as a drawer full of clean small clothes. He was very particular about those. He recalled how Alistair used to tease him about spending so much time washing himself and scrubbing his small clothes and socks in streams whenever they camped. He had finally replied with a laugh, "That's because you're a dirty, dirty boy, Alistair. I believe that's your way of rebelling against the sisters at the Chantry. But I love you all the same."

He meant it too, so had held the first comment that sprang to mind, about having had a mother who had raised him right. That had been before he learned about Alistair's history, but even then it seemed a cruel thing to say to a friend. Not that it didn't stop him from getting his revenge by sneaking a pair of Alistair's filthy socks into Wynne's pack. He chuckled at the memory. That was also his revenge on her for complaining that he and Zev made too much noise and kept her awake. He sighed. Maker's breath, how he missed them.

He forced away the memory and poured some of the chilly water into a basin he kept in the room and washed quickly, then dried himself off with his shirt. He had made a habit of bringing up a bucket or two of water here and a few empty sacks before he left on his excursions. More than once he had been forced to make use of this secret lair to clean up after some particularly messy Dark Wolf "skulking." Not many servants would notice, or care, that cleaning rags had disappeared from the closet's shelves. It was much better than having one of the chambermaids or a too-helpful courtier stumble on bloody evidence in his bedchamber, before he had time to get rid of it, that would be difficult to explain away. That way, he could come back to dispose of the evidence along with the bucket of dirty water down a nearby privy at his leisure.

He murmured as he studied himself in the mirror after donning clean small clothes and a clean shirt, "No, that won't do at all—too obvious." He pulled his trousers back on, but laced them loosely and left cord of the neck hole of his shirt open, leaving his smooth chest bare. He rubbed his chin. He was finally getting in enough of a beard that he needed to shave every day or two, and he scowled at his reflection as he ran his index finger down a fine line between his eyebrows that hadn't been there last year. He wasn't yet thirty, and he was already losing his boyish looks. He muttered wistfully, "Oh, to be an elf, with their silky skin and nearly perpetual beauty." He wondered if Zev would still look young and handsome long after his own hair had gone gray, or if either of them would even live that long. But he reminded himself that the taint would take him by then anyway.

There was no sense moping over what he couldn't change. He tore himself away from the mirror. "I'm wasting valuable time. Pity I'm not better at sleight-of-hand so I could pretend to drink my brandy as I ply her with it." But he was sure he could never fool a bard of her skill.

He took two goblets off a shelf in the wardrobe and placed them on the table along with a deck of cards, to support the illusion that he had invited her in for a game of Diamondback. Next he dug through his poison cache and removed a small stoppered green glass vial. He placed it under the edge of the mattress on the right side. It was a general-purpose antidote, that should serve against any poison which was in her wine, if he should need it, until he could get a stronger one. He also had a healing potion within reach. He wouldn't be surprised if she had fortified herself against his brandy though. That was how the Game was played.

The only thing left to do was to fluff up the pillows and arrange his lean body languidly upon the bed, holding the last rose across his chest. He passed the time waiting for her arrival by stroking himself lightly with his other hand, so he would appear to be eagerly anticipating their encounter. His eyes opened in surprise after a few minutes when he realized that he had been thinking about Anora, rather than Zevran, who was usually the star of his fantasies whenever he had to will himself to perform. He murmured as he considered it, "That's very odd." Perhaps it was because he hadn't made love to his wife in three years now, or perhaps bringing her into the Game with him as he had done tonight made him desire her.

He didn't have long to wait. He smiled a moment later at hearing a faint noise coming from the closet. It was not likely a servant at his hour; a servant wouldn't take so much care to be quiet either. They also tended to avoid this closet at night because of rumors of it being haunted, thanks to the disembodied voices and other noises some had heard. He could tell by a barely audible tapping on the walls that someone was searching for the door. A few minutes later, a tiny bell near the ceiling that was on a cord attached to the inside latch tinkled. He glanced at himself in the mirror again and whispered, "Time to play," as the door opened and the ambassador stepped in. He flashed a brilliant smile at her. "Ah, Madame Laverna! I was beginning to fear you had changed your mind."

He gave her a moment to adjust to the light, then another moment to let her gaze at him draped lazily across the bed, then slipped off the bed, approaching her like a dockside tart approaching a sailor new in port. He was fully hard now, but it wasn't due to her or to the fantasy starring his wife. It was the Game that inflamed him. He kissed hand and then both cheeks, wrinkling his nose at the cloying too-sweet smell of heavy perfume and rank sweat (but being careful not to let her see), then took a relieving whiff of the rose as he swept his hand towards the table. "Shall we sit here and drink your wine? I've also brought the last few remaining drops of my Antivan brandy," frowning at the bottle, "that my wife and your Ser Anton left me, though I must admit I'm rather curious to find out what a desire demon's kiss tastes like. I've certainly never let one get close enough to find out!" He tittered at that as he led her to the table and pulled out a chair for her, then sat across from her.

She forced a giggle as her eyes made a fast, practiced assessment of the room, looking for exits, hidden weapons, or places, like the wardrobe, where he could be hiding someone to spy on them. It disturbed her that there was only one door in or out, and no windows. Perhaps that large painting of some ancient king concealed a secret exit. She wondered if any of his courtiers or servants knew where he had gone. Iolanthe knew the general location of where she was to meet the prince, but if she didn't return, the biggest danger was that the servants would clean up the rose petals and the other marks along the path before Iolanthe could find her. She thought too late that she should have told the girl to follow her and watch the closet out of sight. But she chided herself for letting her imagination run away with fear. She could hardly disappear without causing an international incident. Besides, she also reminded herself she ate boys like this one for breakfast.

She resumed her assessment and gathered from the half full basin that he had taken time to bathe so he would be fresh for her. It was tempting to roll her eyes. In her opinion, Fereldans were overly fastidious about bathing, but perhaps that had to do with living in such a wet land where one constantly had to watch one's footing because of the muck and the dog shit. Fereldans wouldn't even think of kenneling their dogs, or simply splashing on some fresh perfume before a romantic encounter, as people did in Orlais. But his having taken the time to bathe also told her the pup was expecting to lay her, despite his ruse of setting out the cards.

She turned back to him. He leaned back lazily in the chair watching her, one arm thrown across the back, still smelling the rose held in his other hand, with his legs spread apart. A glance at the bulge straining the pup's trousers confirmed that he was eager, with the promise of a young man's vigor that made her smile in anticipation. His eyes followed hers, and when she met his again, he grinned wickedly. But she would make him wait, at least long enough to get a glass or two of wine into him and wait a few minutes more for it to take effect.

"I have the wine right here, your Highness, as I promised." She handed him the bottle. "You will find it has notes of oak, chocolate, and raspberries, but also lust, and under that a hint of despair. The chevalier who named it swears he had an encounter with such a demon once, and this wine tasted exactly like her kiss."

Nigel wasted no time in uncorking the bottle, using fumbling eagerness to disguise his attempt to determine whether the bottle had been re-corked. "Are you saying this chevalier survived their encounter to tell the tale then?" Nigel didn't believe the story one bit, knowing too well what desire demons did to their victims, but then he had more experience with all manner of demons than most people. Typical Orlesian pretentiousness, in his opinion.

He poured enough to sample. He inhaled the deep red wine deeply then swirled the wine around in the goblet then his mouth before he swallowed, frowning in concentration. "Yes, I detect the acidity from the oak, the chocolate note, and the raspberries. And I think I taste the despair. As for the lust..." He fought a shudder. It was definitely adulterated. If he didn't know better, from the coldness that rushed through his body, he'd think she had poisoned it. It was tempting to reach for the antidote under the mattress, but that would be ending the Game prematurely. "I taste...longing, perhaps, but not lust. It is a very sad wine." He filled his goblet again and then offered her his brandy.

Madame Laverna watched him pour the brandy into her goblet, thinking that he certainly spoke like an Orlesian. She sniffed it, then took a sip, rolling it around her mouth as she tried to detect whether something had been added. Her experienced palate told her it was a very old vintage, and very expensive. Now she understood why he was so put out that his wife and Anton had drunk most of the bottle.

Yet she knew the prince had traveled with a notorious bard and an even more notorious assassin, and she didn't know how much either had taught him. Perhaps nothing, though he had showed her this evening that he did know common rogue's marks. It could be that they simply used one another for sex and comfort during the lonely, dangerous nights while they traveled around Ferelden gathering his army. From what she could discover about him, it didn't appear he had followed either path in the years since he killed the Archdemon, if he indeed slayed it at all. After all, he was still alive. Perhaps as some suggested, it had been done by Riordan, the Orlesian Warden, and this opportunistic pup had taken credit for his deed.

"It's an excellent brandy, Your Highness." It was potent and warmed her to her toes. She took another drink, reminding herself to sip it so she wouldn't become drunk, as Anton had done, and she also thought with disgust, not for the first time either. The more she thought about it as she drank the delicious brandy, the more she was determined she wanted to have another chevalier assigned to assist her. She had to tread carefully though, because unlike her, Anton was well-connected to several of the leading families in Orlais. She could hardly use his frequent drunkenness as a reason and subject him to unforgivable public humiliation. Perhaps she would get lucky, and he would have a fatal accident in the morning during the hunt. She thought as she took another drink, forgetting to sip, that it was a pity she didn't have time to arrange it.

Nigel grinned at her. "Fantastic, isn't it? It was a gift. I was given a whole case of it, but that was over two years ago. Now it's nearly gone."

His voice grew wistful as he trailed off, and again, she was reminded of how wolfish he looked in the right light. "Your Antivan _friend_ must have brought it then?" She took another drink of the brandy then picked up the cards and shuffled them.

He didn't try to hide a sad sigh. "Zev? No, it was a gift from the Antivan ambassador at the time, who was certainly neither a friend nor a lover, though I did manage to negotiate a decent trade agreement with her. The current ambassador isn't nearly as generous. No, I regret that my Antivan _friend_ has been too busy staying one step ahead of other Crow assassins to visit me very often."

She dealt the cards as she listened, feeling a moment's pity for the regret in his voice, but only for a moment. "Two lovers torn apart by circumstance. I know what it is like to forsake love for duty, Your Highness."

Did she really? He could tell her wine was working, and it was a struggle not to reply that he didn't believe her. She was trying to use sympathy to win him to her side. He shrugged and took another drink then picked up his cards. He counted them and looked over at her quizzically. "Is it to be Wicked Grace then, and not Diamondback? But I haven't brought a coin pouch." He was positive she had palmed a card, but it was too early in the game to call her on it.

She picked up her cards and arranged them in her hand. "Perhaps we can play for points then, if you have a quill and paper to keep score. Or we could play for something else, no? Or simply have a friendly game? Your resources must be stretched razor thin repairing all the damage from the Blight, and we must leave you some shopping money."

He struggled against the effects of the wine. But then again, what she asked was no secret, so there was no point in fighting her question. Still, he sidestepped her as best he could. "Ah, as I said before, I have plenty of my own coin from my estate in Highever, which was largely unaffected by the Blight. I can't wait to shop in Val Royeaux. There used to be this darling, and reasonably priced, tailor on the _Rue des Mauvais Garcons _near my boarding house. I heard he had moved to Kirkwall, though I hope not. Have you ever been there? I cannot imagine why anyone would want to live there, who didn't _have_ to live in that dismal place."

"Ugh, Kirkwall indeed, and people say Ferelden is bad..." Too late the words were out of her mouth. Alarmed, she thought was it due to the lateness of the hour, the drink, a combination of both, or had this pup put something into his brandy as well?

But if he had, he didn't show it. Instead, he laughed loudly and nearly dropped his cards. "Why, because of the rain, and the pervasive stench of wet dog? That's nothing, Madame. You should have been here when we were burning our dead and darkspawn corpses for months." He grew grim and muttered, "There are places where the land is still blighted and probably will be for generations, perhaps forever." It was common knowledge, and he saw no harm in confessing the state of his land to the Orlesians. If anything, the truth might make them less inclined to invade.

"Ah, but Ferelden, She is strong, and She will recover, no? I believe that in no time her fertile fields will be profitable again." She was pleased that the wine was taking effect, but it was revealing a maudlin side to the prince. She thought she had to steer the conversation back to casual flirting. "We never decided upon a wager. Or is it to be a friendly game? You seemed _very_ friendly earlier."

"Profit..." He nearly replied with a bitter crack about Orlais counting her profits from Fereldan lands prematurely, but she inadvertently diverted him with her question about the game, allowing him to reply, "Is any game truly friendly, my dear ambassador?"

And then he thanked the Maker for a wicked thought. He followed with a salacious anecdote about a game of Wicked Grace he played with the pirate Isabela, telling her how they ended the evening in her cabin, along with Leliana and Zevran. He added, "And when I was at University, we used to play..." He shook his head and struggled for a moment before he blurted out, "for our clothing." He managed a blush, still thinking about how much he learned about Leliana that night in Isabela's cabin, and hoping she would think it was due to his suggestion.

She wasn't at all surprised about his story or that he made the suggestion. He confirmed he had a one-track mind, like most young men. She smiled coyly. "Intriguing, but I fear I have you at an advantage as you are not even wearing shoes, yes?"

He looked down at his feet. "No, nor stockings for that matter. Shall I dress again then? Or...you could perhaps spot me a few garments so that we're even?" He leered at her lasciviously.

She thought that over for a moment. "Let us have another drink, and you can unlace my gown. However, that is all the concession I am willing to grant you, Your Highness." She waited until he poured then stood and turned her back to him so that he could unlace her.

Nigel had already pulled his silk stockings back on, and was working on his doublet. "You would still have me at a disadvantage, Madame." He slipped his doublet on, but didn't button it. Walking over behind her, he made short work of the lacing of her gown then pushed it off her shoulders. He felt her gasp and shiver as he slipped his arms inside her gown and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her against him. Finishing with light kisses on the back of her neck, he whispered, "I think we're even now."

It took her a moment to realize she was holding her breath as he let her go and took his seat. She had fully expected him to continue his kisses and carry her to the bed, and she could hardly hide her disappointment. The pup was good, but she was better. She stepped out of her gown then picked it up and folded it across the chair. Turning to face him, she stood there to allow him take in the view of her in her corset, chemise, and petticoats. She might be old enough to be his mother, but she knew she was still a beautiful woman, was very fit, and many women half her age didn't have her figure.

He smiled and gave her another appreciative leer before he lay down his first cards. "I believe I win this hand! Now then, I plan to claim your shoes, Madame. I'm quite serious. Those bows are absolutely darling! He gestured at his hand and waited for her to play hers.

She smirked as she played out her own cards. Though it meant losing the hand, she decided to hold the card she had palmed for now. "I don't believe they won't fit you or the enormous feet of your queen, but I can give you the address of a shoe maker who would gladly make you a pair just like them." She bit her tongue as the insult to the queen slipped out, but he didn't seem to notice, or to be bothered if he had. That told her much about their relationship.

Nigel had heard it but ignored the insult to Anora, secretly hoping that his opponent hadn't realized she had made it. Not that he wasn't seething inside, thinking of many ways to make her pay for it later. Instead, he took another drink of his wine before dropping to his knees before her and removing her shoes, following by kissing the tops of her feet. "Yes, as I recall, it was quite difficult to tell the difference between men's shoes and women's, and common for young Orlesian gentlemen to dress in ladies' garb, even at court events. At least they looked like they were wearing ladies' garb. Can I refill your brandy before you deal the next hand?"

The very next hand, Madam Laverna suggested a new rule that allowed the winner of a hand to choose whether to take clothing from the other, or to take something back that had been lost. "That way, we avoid hard feelings, yes?"

Nigel conceded, but countered that the item won back couldn't put on again, or be used as a wager again. "It's only fair, Madame. Otherwise, the game will never end." He had little doubt she would kill to get those shoes back, and he was right as she played the held card to make sure she won.

They played and talked for more than an hour, each cheating any chance they got, though trying not to let the other see. He noted that beads of sweat broke out on her forehead when he had slipped in pointed questions about the Orlesians' attitudes about Ferelden, and it was the same for him, despite the coolness of the room. This was more of a test of one another's skill than an interest in winning or losing the game.

Nigel also realized as they played that the drug Zev had given him seemed to be stronger than the drug in her wine, but he was careful not to let that go to his head. He thanked the Maker that his love had been trained so well. He also noticed that the ambassador had a bad habit of asking leading questions but trying to disguise them in other questions, which allowed him to escape the effects of her drug for the most part, answering part of her questions truthfully, by always turning the subject back to either gossip (she seemed to love to gossip), fashion (she loved shoes too), his family, or sex.

In that way, over the course of the game, he had learned a bit about the plot, and even got some names of her other conspirators, after asking innocently for suggestions who he could befriend in Orlais who might have Ferelden's best interest at heart. He guessed from her conversation that she assumed she was winning him over to their side and giving him names of contacts to help him win the throne. He hoped that all she got out of him was that he was devoted to his children, and also mad about shoes. He tried to monitor his words, but it was a struggle.

Once Nigel knew all he needed to know, he decided it was time to end the game, as it was becoming tiresome. He threw another hand by discarding his best cards and playing his worst, then pulled his shirt over his head and handed it over it to her, feigning disgust at his bad luck. He looked down at himself. "It appears that one more losing hand, and you'll have me down to bare skin. I should have called 'No jewelry or hidden daggers.' You had me beat there."

She smirked as she shuffled again. "You've already refused to give up your wedding ring, with good reason, I suppose. However, besides your small clothes, you do still have that earring, no? But I can see by the fire in your eyes that you will not part with that, even for a moment. It must have great sentimental value."

She had him there, the very thought made him want to reach for a dagger. He nodded curtly. "It indeed has _sentiment_... it was given by...is the only thing I have of his.." He struggled not to go on and silently cursed the lingering effects of the drugs. Suddenly it was all he could do not to break down in tears thinking about that night he finally accepted Zev's earring. He did have one other thing of Zev's, his young son that he was raising for him, and he felt compelled to divulge this. But he found he was able to resist giving her information that could be used against Zev. That told him that their drugs were wearing off.

Madame Laverna cursed herself for bringing it up, since she knew very well his Antivan lover had given the earring to him. She had to regain his attention and regain the upper hand. She stood gracefully and swayed over to him and sat on his lap, putting her arms around him and drawing his cheek against her breasts, stroking his long wheat-colored hair. "There there, I meant no harm. You generously allowed me to keep my mother's ring. However, perhaps you should now concede?"

The ring was indeed her mother's, who had also been a notorious bard, but she hadn't handed it over because she was afraid that this pup might discover the tiny clasp that opened the hidden compartment, which was filled with a fast-acting sleeping powder, which she used sometimes when she really didn't want to sleep with a mark. She also had had an advantage with the many layers of Orlesian women's court clothing, as she was wearing two petticoats under her chemise and corset. She had also been wearing more jewelry than he was. However, they had been evenly matched on hidden daggers. "As you can see, I am also down to my corset and my last petticoat, but unlike you, I am not wearing small clothes under it."

He wondered if she realized how maternal her gesture appeared to him at the same time that she was trying to seduce him with that last bit of information. He shuddered in revulsion at the thought, and it was all he could do not to push her off his lap onto the floor. "Yes, I recall that was the custom in Orlais. Perhaps we should call it a night, then?"

"Ah, I am too late," she thought, dismayed. Even with his face lying against her breasts, where he had kept his eyes fixed a good portion of the game, she could feel that he was flaccid under her, caused she suspected by too much of her drug, and certainly not by lack of interest in her. She was confident she could arouse him again, but she found herself asking whether she wanted to expend the energy. She was suddenly very tired, and she had what she had come for. In addition, she was confident she could report to her fellow conspirators that they might avoid war entirely if they could find a way to remove the queen and allow this pup to rule as his daughter's regent. Then they only would have to deal with the faction in Orlais who only wanted war for the sake of war.

She had provided him contacts who would seduce him into a life of debauchery on her suggestion, and she had no doubt little effort would be required. The prince's new "friends" would flood his court after the queen's untimely death to help him. First they would suggest he get a proper Orlesian governess until the heir was old enough to go there to school. There they would ensure she was properly trained to understand that the Orlesian way was superior. He had revealed to her during the game that he sensed that the older of their twins was Chantry-bound, so what better place to suggest for her education than the great cathedral in Val Royeaux. As for the youngest, the one he referred to as his "little she-wolf," she knew some of her fellow conspirators would appreciate the irony if they could persuade the prince to allow the best Orlesian chevaliers to train the namesake of the Rebel Queen and the granddaughter of Logain Mac Tir in the fighting arts, to become one of them, in the service of Orlais.

Nigel opened an eye and tried to look at her in the mirror. She had grown quiet, and he wondered if she had fallen asleep, or passed out from too much brandy. But her posture and breathing told him otherwise, and from his quick glance, he observed that while her eyes were closed, her expression was one of triumph. Best to let her think she had won then, and take her advice and retire for the evening before she managed to ask him a direct question that he couldn't dodge. Besides, trapped in her arms like this, he didn't know what he detested more, the cloying sweetness of her perfume, or the reek of her sweat, and he found it all too tempting to tell her that. He could still manage to bed her, but it would take a powerful fantasy to rouse himself to action.

He sat up straight and picked up his rose, inhaling the fresh scent. "Shall we collect our own things and leave before the servants are up then? If not, I suppose I shall have to return to my chambers in your gown. That should give the guards something to gossip about, though I doubt many will be surprised."

She was surprised at how relieved she was at his suggestion. For some reason, she wasn't in the mood to feign pleasure, even though he was younger and more handsome than most of the men she bedded these days. She had won, but the game had been closer to a draw than the pup realized. "Your shoulders are too broad and you'll tear it, unless you leave it unlaced, no. I'm sure tongues will wag as well at the sight of me returning to my chambers in your doublet, bearing the royal coat of arms." She unwrapped her arms from around him and stood up off his lap then picked up her gown.

He stood and stretched then snatched his shirt off the top of the pile and pulled it over his head. "Let me lace you up, or if you would prefer to save time, I have a cloak in the wardrobe you can borrow to wrap up in, and you can carry your clothing back. I'll even show you a short cut to your chamber down the back stairs." That way he could be rid of her within minutes, and he wouldn't have to endure another attempt at seduction. He slipped on his trousers then grabbed the rest of his things almost before she could reply, not even taking time to put on his shoes.

That did sound better than spending another half an hour dressing and giving him time to become aroused again as they engaged in small talk. Men had one thing on their minds most of the time, and she was still a desirable woman. She wanted to do nothing more than leave now that she had what she wanted. As she thought about it, she could even see herself acquiring a place in his court as an adviser and confidant, if they remained friendly. Sex tended to change that. "Thank you, Your Highness, I'll do that."

She walked over to the wardrobe and took out the cloak and wrapped herself in it, pausing for a moment to consider why he needed to have several changes of clothes hidden away here. But she was tired and wasn't going to give him time to change his mind, and quickly gathered her own things.

A short while later, after giving the ambassador a fast kiss on the cheek and directions to her chamber at the promised shortcut (and knowing but not caring that she thought him a cad for not walking her all the way back), he neared his own chamber. He was exhausted and looking forward to falling into bed for a few hours' sleep before he met with Anora for a breakfast debriefing, and then met the girls at the kennels. Yet he hesitated for a moment, then found himself instead padding towards his wife's chambers. Buddy was sleeping diligently outside Anora's door. He raised his head and perked up his ears at his master's silent approach then stood, the stub of his tail wagging happily.

"Thank you, my friend. I'll take it from here." Nigel gestured to a tired-looking guard down the hall, who startled because he hadn't even heard the prince approach. He nodded in reply and waited for Buddy to join him. The huge mabari woofed and stretched then ambled down the hall with the guard, heading to a small courtyard he used to relieve himself.

Nigel nodded to acknowledge the other guard standing further down the hall, then slipped into Anora's chambers quietly. He closed the door softly and set the rest of his clothing down on a table, careful not to disturb one of Anora's ladies, who was on night duty and was dozing peacefully in a comfortable chair.

He entered his wife's bedchamber and stood near her bed for several moments, watching her sleep. The curtains were open, and she was bathed in the light of the full moon. She was murmuring something; he had caught her in the midst of a dream. She was so beautiful when she was relaxed like this, at peace in the Fade, with all the worries of court far away. Her golden hair was loose and streamed out around her head on the pillow. It had been too long since he had slept beside her, and too few times in their marriage, queen or not. He undressed and crept over then slipped into the bed, easing himself in gradually so he wouldn't awaken her, until he was right against her. She was very warm, and her soft body fit comfortably against his, as if they were made to fit together. He put an arm around her waist and held her close, taking in her scent. She also had a lingering scent of perfume, but she didn't smell as if she had bathed in it.

He wasn't aware he had dozed off until he was awakened by her calling his name and pushing at his shoulder. His eyes popped open. The sun was already up, filling the room with light. Anora was facing him, with a startled look on her face. He pushed her hair off her cheek. "I'm sorry, did I awaken you, love?"

She blinked in confusion. She hadn't awakened to him beside her like this in years. In fact, they had rarely spent a full night together during their marriage except for that time they spent in Highever. Admittedly, she had liked the sensation of his warm body lying so close to her when she had awakened. She also had to admit to herself she did get lonely sleeping alone every night. Still, his visits had always been at her invitation. "What are you doing here?"

" Shall I leave? Do I still need an appointment to spend the night beside my wife?" She was within her rights, but he tried without success to hold back the note of hurt in his voice.

"No, of course not, don't be silly." She cringed at the hurt tone but also tried and failed to hold back a touch of annoyance in her response. "It was simply unexpected, that's all. And you frightened me. And you haven't answered my question."

He shrugged. "I can't tell you. I missed you, love. I was going to bed, but I was drawn to your side. Is it so surprising to you that I should want to be with you, especially after being trapped with that Orlesian reptile for hours? Maker, you smell good. And your hair is radiant in this morning light. I wish you could be painted like this, with your hair streaming down, just for me." He couldn't resist leaning close and taking in her scent. He realized he was still under the influence of the ambassador's drug, but at this moment, he didn't care.

"You call me love like you mean it." He had sounded so sincere when he said it. She had grown to care for him since their marriage, and she knew he had come to care for her too, as a friend, perhaps, and as the mother of his children. Yet she had never reconciled herself to his freedom to do as he pleased, while she was forced to live like a Chantry sister. There was his love affair with his Antivan, but he was never around enough to be a real rival, and she knew Nigel was too devoted (some would say trapped, she knew) to his kingdom and his family to follow him. He was hers, for better or worse.

"I do mean it," he murmured as he cupped the back of her head in his hand and drew her close for a kiss. Though it surprised him, he knew in his heart it was true, too, and not only because of the drugs. It was not the same love he felt for Zev; he knew he would never love anyone like he loved him. But it was love he felt for her just the same.

She tried to push away with one hand, while at the same time putting her other arm around him to pull him closer. "What are you doing? We mustn't, Nigel. What if...We shouldn't...We don't have time." Yet she found it impossible not to return his kisses as she ran out of excuses.

He whispered in her ear, "Remember, you're the queen, and the court runs on _your_ time. Besides, I can stop in time so I won't get you with child again. Trust me."

"Promise?" His kisses traveled across her neck and throat while his hands traveled over her body, touching her how she loved to be touched, as if it hadn't been years since his hands were last on her. Despite her misgivings about his life in the shadows, she knew she really did trust him. A courtier had written a poem in her honor calling her "Anora, the glorious sun of Ferelden." If that was true, she needed him to be her moon in the shadows. They were well matched in that way. She whispered, "Yes. But lock the door."


	7. Intimate Strangers

Ch 7 Intimate Strangers

Usual disclaimer: The characters in this chapter are owned by Bioware, EA, and probably other people, but not by me. However, I do feel no shame in claiming their Cousland boy and his dog as my own.

The morning sunlight streamed through the open curtains, bathing them in its rosy glow. Lying contentedly in each others' arms, neither of them spoke, being painfully aware of the nagging inner voice that insisted Duty was awaiting them. Duty came for them eventually, in the form of Erlina's insistent knock on Anora's bedchamber door after finding it locked, which was out of the ordinary.

"Your Majesty?" They could hear the hesitation edged with fear in her voice, as her keys rattled in her hand. "Are you well, your Majesty? Your bath, it will be getting cold, and everyone will be waiting for you in the great hall for breakfast."

Anora sighed and whispered to Nigel, "I haven't been abed this late since after the twins were born." Turning her attention to her insistent lady-in-waiting before she could burst through the door, she called, "I'm not feeling like going down to breakfast, Erlina. Send my apologies to everyone, ask Arl Eamon to stand in for me, then have the cooks send something up."

Erlina sounded more concerned now. "Is anything wrong, Your Majesty? Shall I send for Mother Carmella?'

Anora bit her lip, caught in a lie, dreading another scolding from the dowager Revered Mother, her personal healer, who was one of the few people in her kingdom who felt she had the rank to do so. She threw a pillow at Nigel, who was leaning back against his pillow, his arms folded behind his head, chuckling at her. He chuckled again as he batted away the pillow and caught the sheet she was covering herself in with his toes and gently tugged it. "No, I'm...simply tired from last night, that's all. But I am hungry." She ignored Nigel's whispered, 'Still?,' and added, "So have a bit of everything sent up, will you?" She tugged the sheet back up.

"Tired? Yes, but sated, I should hope," Nigel murmured teasingly.

She hissed, "Nigel!" Yet he was right, she did feel relaxed and well, sated. She couldn't understand why a few minutes of pleasure provided such a deep sense of relief, but it had, and it had been far too long.

In her sitting room, Maeve, one of Anora's newest ladies-on-waiting, who was supposed to have been on night duty, smirked as she tapped Erlina on the shoulder, pointing at the prince's neatly-folded doublet and dancing shoes on a chair next to where she had been sleeping, until Erlina came in.

Erlina frowned and groused at the girl, "Fell asleep, did you?," then turned her attention back to her queen on the other side of the door. "As you wish, your Majesty. Shall I have a tray brought in to you?"

Anora could detect by her tone that her chief lady-in-waiting wasn't fooled. "No, have them leave breakfast out there on the table then go get your own." She knew Erlina almost always arose early so she could have breakfast with her young son, but such was their relationship that she wouldn't think of dismissing her like she would her other ladies. At that moment, Nigel succeeded in catching the sheet with his nimble toes and yanked it down, and she stifled a shriek as he caught her around the waist and pulled her back onto the bed for a kiss or three.

Erlina replied through the door, "As you wish, your Majesty. I will tell the seneschal that you will attend court this afternoon, yes?" At Anora's muffled reply, Erlina bit her lip, considering for a moment informing Mother Caramella of the prince's visit. She dismissed the idea; her Lady didn't deserve that, especially after having been forced to distract that pig of a chevalier half of the evening.

She turned and pointed a slender finger at the prince's things and said in an acidic tone designed to melt the smirk off the young human's face, and remind her of her place in the hierarchy of the court, "Take those to the prince's chambers and give them to one of his men before you go to bed. But first go tell Lady Siobhan to have a hearty breakfast sent up for the _queen_, and say that she and the other ladies are to wait outside in the vestibule to give her Majesty some privacy until she is ready to dress. And Maeve, mind that you don't go spreading gossip along the way, hmm?"

Maeve curtsied and turned away quickly to comply, trying to hide an angry scowl. It really rankled her having to take orders from an elf, but such was the price of being allowed to come to serve at court, where she hoped to attract the notice of a noble husband, being merely the daughter of a wealthy merchant (who had secured her a place at court after large donations to the royals' charities). She shot Erlina a scowl anyway as she supervised her picking up the clothes, then hustled her out the door.

Erlina cast a worried look at the door to the bedchamber one last time, before leaving to fulfill the rest of her queen's commands. They would talk later, once the prince left for his trip to Orlais, but even though they were close, friendship with the Queen of Ferelden only went so far. She was hesitant to convey her dismay that Anora was risking her health and her life, as well as the safety of the kingdom, for a few minutes of pleasure. With three daughters, they certainly had no need of another heir, unless for some foolish reason they wanted a son as well, and she knew that wasn't the case. Therefore, there was no reason to risk another pregnancy, not to mention the turmoil that would be caused by her untimely death. But what kind of a friend would she be if she didn't stick her nose in? Anora almost died giving birth to her twins, and perhaps a true friend would remind her of that.

Anora pushed Nigel away when his kisses and his hands traveled below her collarbone and found her breasts, knowing as she realized her left leg had instinctively wrapped around his hip, that she was losing will to make him stop. What his thumbs alone could do was almost indecent, not to mention his tongue, and his teeth... "Nigel, stop! I have to get up and get dressed. And so do you! You haven't even finished packing, and you're sailing tonight! And the girls will be waiting for us!"

Nigel sighed and broke away reluctantly. "Very well, my love. I ah, I left most of my clothing in your sitting room though. I don't suppose it's still there. It wouldn't be a problem if we had adjoining suites."

Anora gave up trying to find her nightgown and wrapped the sheet around herself, hiding her nakedness from the morning light. "Yours is close enough, through the privy and the bath. Why did you leave your things out there? The news of your visit has probably traveled through half the castle by now, and will be all over the city by midday."

He grinned broadly. "Indeed, but why deprive our subjects of something to gossip about? However, do not forget that we _are_ married; it's not as if we're having a tryst or doing something shameful. I don't believe I'm going to act as if we are any longer. Dangerous to you, my love, yes, but not immoral, and Maker willing, I took care of that." He turned back to the bed and stripped off the remaining sheet to be taken to the laundry when the servants came in to clean her chambers after the queen had left.

Anora blushed as she watched him, wondering if he had diminished his own pleasure for her sake, and thinking as she watched him move about that it was terribly unfair that men were so comfortable with their nakedness. "Fortunately, Erlina already had my clothing laid out last night, so that will save me time."

Nigel stretched, yawned and scratched his backside as he walked over to peer out the window. He muttered, "Red skies...I doubt if the captain's crew will want to sail tonight. Sailors are a superstitious lot. Looks like you're not rid of me yet."

He turned back to watch her watching him, swaddled in the sheet, and smiled sweetly at her. "You are so lovely. It's all I can do not to pounce on you, love. I swear, you're radiant! I should like to have you painted in just this light, with your golden hair streaming down about your shoulders like it is now."

She arched an eyebrow. "In this sheet, or less, I suppose?" She turned and walked towards her bath so he wouldn't see her smile though, or the blush spreading across her cheeks.

He gave that some thought. "Hmm, I think I would like that very much; you have a fine figure. I was afraid that once you increased your training with Ser Cauthrien to strengthen your back, you would lose your curves, but you're still _very_ shapely. Once again, I thank the Maker I wasn't forced to kill her."

His comment made her blush anew, both from the complement, and also from the memory of him facing down her father's woman-at-arms, who now served them with the same zeal with which she had served her father, when she tried to block his way into the Landsmeet all those years ago. "That goes for me as well. I'm afraid I'm going to have arms and shoulders like a blacksmith before long." But the pride in her voice belayed her concern. "On the other hand, I have finally gotten the shield bash maneuver down to her satisfaction. I like that she's not afraid to push me, and it pleases me that I'm confident I can do more now than don armor and strap on a sword to look the part of the warrior queen. Ferelden might need more than an inspiring speech next time she's threatened. Now then, shall we wash together and save time?"

He waggled his eyebrows. "My dear wife, what a suggestion! I thought you were in a hurry."

She wadded up his shirt and threw it at him. "I am. So how then should I dress for this portrait of yours, and where shall it be hung? In your bedchamber, or in your playroom, I suppose?"

He caught the shirt and followed her. "The way that you've draped that sheet makes me think of dressing you in something from the early Towers age, in gold perhaps, to compliment your hair. I should like it hung in my chambers, or in the girls' for that matter. I have just the painter to do you justice too. The Nevarran ambassador's son Gustav is quite gifted. I've seen his portfolio, and our giving him a royal commission would go far towards persuading his father to allow his son to follow his calling. It would be a pity for such a Maker-given talent to be wasted."

She arched an eyebrow and looked at him briefly while rearranging her sheet. "You're serious."

He frowned as he checked the water in the tub as she stepped in, still holding the sheet around her. "Quite serious. It's too cold. Let me warm it for you."

"It's fine." It was chilly, but she wasn't going to admit it. She settled in the tub as he reached for a large kettle hanging in the fireplace. "Is this because the Nevarran boy is one of your..."

Nigel smiled at the sight of her trying to cover herself as he added the hot water. "No, though I wouldn't turn him down if he were interested, but he isn't. No, I honestly think the boy has an amazing talent. I can have his portfolio sent to you to look over, and I'm sure you'll agree. I was considering commissioning him for some of the work in the Chantry too, now that all the repairs have been completed."

"You don't think that his not being Fereldan will cause problems?" She managed to drape the sheet across the top of the tub and smiled in satisfaction at her handiwork.

He handed her a washcloth and soap before sliding in to the opposite end of the tub, washing himself with his knees drawn up to his chest to give her more room. But she was in a more awkward position trying to wash herself under the sheet, and it was all he could do not to chuckle at her modesty. She certainly hadn't been so modest less than an hour ago. "Isolde told me last night that she and the other members of my trust have selected three Fereldan painters for the work, though the commissions haven't been awarded yet. If you agree, I'll send her a message before I leave that we should arrange a competition between the four of them, with the winner having the honor of painting the mural of Andraste in the main chapel, but all of them being given a commission to complete part of the work."

At that moment, he looked over as a sharp rap sounded on the door leading to the privy, followed by a dry cough. "That would be Owain, announcing that my clothes are laid out." Nigel rose and stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel and drying himself off. He turned back to Anora and gave her an affectionate peck. "I best go before you shrivel up." He winked at her. "I'll come around for breakfast as soon as I've dressed." He executed a formal bow, which wasn't as ridiculous looking as it should have been considering he was only wearing a towel.

She waited until he had vanished into the royal privies before she got out of the tub and dried herself off, the sounds coming from her sitting room telling her that breakfast had arrived, and the smell prodding her to hurry. What was it about sex with him that made her so hungry? She quickly slipped into her small clothes and a soft shell pink silk chemise, slipping her dressing gown over the top of that. Anora opened the door to the vestibule and summoned her lady-in-waiting Siobhan in so she could dress her hair while she waited for the prince to join her. That would do until after she had broken her fast, when the morning entourage could finish preparing her to face her court.

Nigel arrived before Siobhan had finished her hair, with Buddy at his heels. Anora noted that while he had dressed, he hadn't taken the time to shave, or braided his forelocks, having simply tied the top of his wheat blond hair back at the crown of his head with a black ribbon. She turned to the girl. "That will be all, Siobhan."

The doe-eyed girl nearly dropped her comb in her haste to put it down. "Yes, your Majesty." She curtseyed nervously to the queen and then the prince and fled for the vestibule, to await her queen's next summons.

Nigel glanced at the door, which had closed a bit too quickly, and then tossed a thick slice of ham to Buddy, who devoured it in two bites. "Siobhan is still so awkward and nervous after what, six months in our service? I reckon she would beat a hasty retreat back to her mother's bann if she would let her. Yet I suspect after watching her watching the fighters on the training field, and not just the handsome ones either, she would be happier joining your sessions with Ser Cauthrien. Something to consider."

Anora reached for a steaming platter. "Indeed? I hadn't thought her the type, but I'll take it under advisement."

He poured himself a cup of coffee, heavily laced with cream, before picking up the comb to finish dressing Anora's hair. He leaned close and whispered, "Do you ever wonder if they're listening with their ears pressed at the door, and that if I crept over and threw it open, they would all come tumbling in?"

"It wouldn't surprise me." Anora chuckled as she filled her plate, glad that he dressed so quickly. "I'm famished!" She didn't wait for him to join her, knowing that something to do with the darkspawn taint caused him to eat frequent light meals throughout the day, but also knowing that he rarely passed up an opportunity to dress her hair. After a quiet few minutes during which she devoured her breakfast while he worked, she looked at him in the mirror across the room as he wound the final braid around the crown of her head then pinned it in place. She turned to meet his eyes, an eyebrow raised. "You're awfully quiet, Nigel. So?"

After a satisfied nod, he set aside the comb and saw to his own breakfast, ignoring her query, for he was still trying to work out the best way to inform her of everything he had learned. He tossed Buddy a meaty bone from the ham then selected a steak for himself and added eggs, potatoes with peppers, and toast with blueberry preserves. As he sat beside her he asked, "So?"

"Soooo, tell me about your evening?" Anora didn't hide her annoyance, knowing he knew very well what she had meant, though she knew he liked to tease, though she detected a fleeting glimpse of something—not quite fear, but some dark emotion nonetheless, in his eyes.

But he wasn't being quiet to tease her. "Ah, yes. My date with The Reptile. Aptly named, because I'm certain now the woman has ice water for blood." He told her everything about his assignation with the ambassador between bites. "I'm certain now that there is indeed a conspiracy, and that she's not only their agent, but is herself one of the conspirators. Her brute Anton as well, I suspect. He is one of those noble fools who has never faced a real battle, and so has no qualms about inflicting all war's horrors on innocent people, probably because he's bored and he's over-hunted his lands. I've gotten a good number of contacts from her after I implied I was on their side, that I'll sound out and deal with when I arrive."

Anora didn't hide her disgust at this confirmation of their fears. "Cowards, striking us when we're still trying to recover from the Blight. And so many of our people fled, and have been unable to return." The food felt heavy in her stomach, but the feeling passed. She was used to dealing with all manner of crises, which had hardened her over the years. "I think I shall take Eamon's advice and offer a bonus for any former soldiers who want to return to Ferelden and reenlist. We may have to sell off more of the royal treasures to do it, however. Perhaps you can do that discretely through your contacts?"

He chewed and swallowed a bite of steak, taking his time before he answered. "I have a contact, Ser Wolf of Rivain. I'll send him a message to meet you through Erlina...It's probably time you met him."

She knitted her brows. "Ser Wulf of Rivain? I don't think I've ever heard of him. Is he newly arrived at the Rivaini embassy?" In the back of her mind, the word 'wolf' resonated, but she couldn't think of why.

He shook his head curtly, cutting off further discussion, for now, saying simply, "No. You don't know him." He continued, "However, as far as repatriating our subjects, it's not as simple as Eamon thinks. I fear a good many of them have moved on in their lives, my love. In their hearts, they'll always be Fereldan, but they probably have families by now wherever they've settled, or lack the means to return, even with a bonus. Besides, after sounding out The Reptile, it's not war I'm afraid of now so much as it is assassination."

Anora gasped, and Nigel paused to take a small green vial out of an inside pocket in his doublet. He withdrew a drop of an inky liquid, which he put on a piece of his toast and popped into his mouth, and swallowed with a gulp of water, grimacing as he did. "And that reminds me of something, my love..."

She was speechless as she watched him in shock, having never expected their conversation to take this turn, never having seen him do anything like that. Even knowing he had a flair for the dramatic, she knew him well enough to know the ambassador must have given him a good reason. Finally, she found her voice. "What did you just do, Nigel? That fluid looks absolutely vile."

He replied calmly, "It was, it is, but it serves its purpose. This is a tincture of several poisons that Zev first made up for me years ago when I was on the run from the Crows hired by your father. Taking a smallish dose daily grants me a measure of immunity to a lethal dose that someone might slip in my food or drink." There, it was out. He met her blue eyes with his own, hard and gray as tempered steel.

His expression was so deadly serious, so cold, it gave her a chill. Few ever saw this side of him, and she could count on one hand the times she had. "Even after we were married? You're frightening me, Nigel. That's...awful! Why would you continue to do that?" She knew he had had his detractors at court, though they were few now, and that many in Amarantine were still known to mutter dark threats of revenge against the Cousland, who burned their city out of what they contend was taking his own revenge for the murder of his family. Was it so bad that he would resort to poisoning himself? And he was suggesting—she didn't want to think about what she was inferring, but she knew she must.

He smiled wanly. "Not on purpose, my love. In retrospect, this isn't nearly as bad as the darkspawn blood concoction that all potential Gray Wardens must drink at The Joining, which eventually claims our lives. But the dose must be measured precisely."

She repeated her question, hearing her voice was quavering. though in her heart she knew the answer. "Why are you telling me this?"

He shrugged nonchalantly as he offered a similar vial to her. "Believe me, I didn't want to ever have to tell you this. You have enough to worry about, so I handle the Shadows. If there had been any way to spare you...Considering our present circumstances, I think it's something you should do as well. For your see love, I think you could be a target. Not that they would resort to an obvious assassination, unless they saw it as a means to provoke a war. But war is expensive and does a great deal of damage to the land being fought over, after all, and I wager many of the conspirators understand that. They're more subtle in Orlais."

She tried to calm herself. She could feel that her eyes were as big as saucers as she stared at her husband. "Do you think they will try to murder you? Is that the reason for the...poison?" She found it hard to say the word.

He replaced his own vial in his doublet. "Me? No. It would serve the Orlesians no purpose in eliminating me, unless they had a replacement in mind. I've played the fop so long that I don't believe they don't see me as a threat."

She replied with more levity than she felt, "I've always thought you should have been an actor."

He shrugged dismissively. "Perhaps, in another life, but the Maker had other plans. I simply always remember that all the world's a stage, and that I'm on every minute of every day. Now you know why I need my 'playroom,' so I can get away to be alone for a while. From what The Reptile said while under Zev's truth drug, I believe she feels I can be seduced while in Orlais, so that if anything unfortunate should happen to you, such as dying from a prolonged illness, I would willingly rule for them as a puppet regent until Lea is of age. Of course all my new Orlesian friends will flood our court to console me, and keep me on the path of debauchery. They also know the taint will probably claim me by the time she's old enough to take the crown."

Anora involuntarily recoiled as he leaned over and stroked her cheek to comfort her. "She told you all that? What of our daughters? Must they poison themselves too? And why would they believe Leanora will likewise agree to rule as their puppet? Unless..."

He nodded. "She told me much more than she realizes. Seizing control of Ferelden will be gradual, naturally, beginning with the court, and then infiltrating the Bannorn to control the Landsmeet. You haven't ever been to Orlais. It's simple arrogance on their part, and a steadfast belief in their superiority, and their right to rule. They think they can remove any opposition, and are confident that with the right indoctrination by helpful Orlesian tutors and courtiers, our daughter will naturally come to see that the Orlesian way is superior, and that she will naturally want to bring her backward subjects into the light. Either that, or that she will happily turn over her duties to them, freeing her to have more time for dancing and parties—the finer things in life. And they don't particularly care what our subjects think. That's what they have chevaliers for."

Anora wrapped her arms around herself as if she was standing in a chill wind. It was true she hadn't ever been there, but she had her father's boyhood horror stories as well as plenty of experience dealing with arrogant Orlesians, so she knew he spoke the truth. She had felt at times that she hadn't really had a childhood, having been raised to be her father's successor. Yet now she began to see how much harder growing up would be for her daughters. To think she might lose them, or that they would have to resort to protecting themselves as their father was doing. There had to be a better way, she just needed to find it. And then it came to her.

She reached for the vial. "I will see that our daughters will have proper Fereldan tutors, no matter what happens to us. And I don't want the girls to have to do this. I'm afraid of the effects of the poison on their growing bodies. But we have been discussing rearranging the royal chambers so that the girls' rooms can be closer to our own..." She carefully removed the stopper. Attached to the underside was a needle, and a drop of the inky fluid gathered on the tip. "We could share meals away from the court most days."

He considered this. "Yes, I see what you're thinking, and it would make it more difficult to poison you if we all eat together, like an ordinary family. One death could be explained, but the entire family? It has happened more than once in Antiva, but Ferelden? We will banish the court except for a trusted few, and have our dishes and goblets kept in our dining room, and set our table ourselves, so we don't have to worry about anyone getting to the servant who sets your place."

She stared at the drop of poison and muttered, "That would be easier than hiring a royal food taster."

He scoffed at that. "I've heard that some Orlesian nobles use condemned prisoners. Of course, it's also said they starve them to compel their cooperation." He reached for the stopper. "That's too much. You will have to build up to my dose. Here, let me show you, love."

He knocked the needle against the inside of the vial, releasing most of the drop, then showed it to her. "This doesn't look like much, but it is sufficient. You simply run it across a bit of food like so." He broke off a small piece of a muffin, not much bigger than a crumb, and wiped the needle on it. He closed the vial then offered her the poisoned bit.

She took it from him after only a moment's hesitation and tossed it into her mouth, then swallowed it with a gulp of water. "Like so?"

"Yes." He smiled kindly then kissed the top of her head, noting that she had conquered the tremor in her hands. It hadn't been lost on him that it hadn't even occurred to her that he might be trying to poison her himself. It warmed his heart that she trusted him with her life, and it made him utter a silent vow to the Maker to repay that trust and do anything to protect her. "You will feel the effects of even such a small dose later, but a vigorous training session and a good deal of water will flush it from your body. You'll know it's time to increase the dose when it no longer makes you feel a little sick."

She still felt sickened by the very thought, but tried not to let her despair show. "What makes me feel sick is thinking that we must fear our very servants. But such is the price of the crown, and protecting our people. I think I shall invite the ambassador to dine with our family a few times while she's here. That should give her pause, unless she also takes poison."

"I wouldn't doubt it at all of a bard of her age." He handed her back the vial. "If the children are going to be sharing our apartments, you need to find someplace safe to hide this out of their, or the servants' reach."

She looked around then stood and walked across the room, and placed the vial on the shelf behind a polished steel urn engraved with the device of Logain Mac Tir, which held his ashes. It was ignored by nearly everyone but herself, just as his statue was ignored by everyone but her and her husband. "It should be safe enough up here. But what will I do if I run out before you return?" In the back of her mind, she heard herself saying, "if you don't return." His declaration that he would deal with the conspirators came back to her, and for the first time, it occurred to her that he was off to war again, and that he might not be coming back, and he knew it. It wasn't as if he had his Zevran watching over him anymore, or any of his Gray Wardens. It also explained his impromptu visit to her bedchamber. It was a farewell visit. She found herself fighting back tears at the thought.

He joined her standing before the urn, putting his arm around her and pulling her close, and held her for a few minutes before he said softly, "Not to worry, love. After we take the girls to see the puppies, we'll go to my 'playroom.' I have two vials remaining in a hidden drawer there that I will show you and Erlina how to open, though I _should_ be back before you need them. If I should be delayed, and you go through those, I'll introduce you to one of my men, who will also act as a go-between if you need to contact Ser Wolf. He in turn can contact some Antivans who owe me favors. However, that brings up another issue. You must swear to me you and Erlina will never touch any food or drink in there without my knowledge, such as my brandy." 

She blinked at him as she tried to make sense of what he was saying, then flushed remembering the brandy she had plied Anton with, as she realized to her horror what her husband was implying. Did he routinely poison his brandy as well? He had mentioned Zevran's truth drug, and she remembered how Anton seemed to become more loquacious the more he drank. What if it had been poisoned instead? She might have murdered him. She felt as if, despite having been married to Nigel for six years, she was meeting her husband for the first time, as if he was a frightening creature who had just stepped out of the shadows. There was nothing she could do but nod dumbly.

He gave her another kiss. "Not to worry, love. Maker willing, we'll laugh about this when we're old and gray."

She put her arms around him and lay her head against his chest. "Maker willing." If he had been anyone else, she would have recoiled in horror. But if he was a fiend, he was her fiend. He loved her, loved their land, and would do anything to protect them both. She wondered what it said of her that it made her love him more.


	8. Finding the Way in the Dark

Chapter 8 Finding the Way in the Dark

Usual Disclaimer: Most of the characters in this story are owned by Bioware and other corporate "people," but not by me. However, I do feel free to claim their Cousland boy and his dog as my own.

Anora forced back the tears that were threatening stream down her cheeks, like a swollen creek about to overflow its banks. She had so many questions, yet in her heart she knew she didn't want to know the answers. Yet she knew she must ask, not only for herself, but for the sake of duty to her kingdom. "Up until now it was all speculation. I didn't want to believe it was real."

He held her and played it off like he thought the Orlesian plot was what was upsetting her, his right hand around her waist, and his left hand caressing the back of her hair and rubbing her neck. He spoke in calming tones to comfort her. "It will be alright, love. I know it's a shock. We've suspected this for months, but that's not the same as having our worst suspicions confirmed. It reminds me of when Duncan arrived at Highever. That seems like another lifetime now. The idea of him wanting to recruit me seemed so, I don't know, romantic, I guess. Imagine me, a Gray Warden. I think I knew my parents would talk him out of it even as I argued about it with my father. It wasn't romantic less than twelve hours later, when the choice was join them to escape with Duncan's help, stay and die beside my family, or take my chances against Howe's forces alone."

"You make Duncan sound ruthless." Anora listened to his story, taking comfort in his caress. Yet she noted his right arm fast around her, holding her to him firmly. "_Enough!_," she told herself, "_I am the Queen of Ferelden, and I have no time for self-indulgent weeping like a child._" "I have questions." She stood up straight, dabbing her eyes, and pulled away so she could meet his. "Are you an Antivan Crow? Nigel, I need to know the truth."

He chuckled lightly, slipping on the mask he wore in public. "Me?" An Antivan Crow? Maker's breath, no! For one thing, I've never been to Antiva. I've only slept with one, and luckily for me, he likes to be tied up."

"Nigel..." She wasn't using her imperial voice, or that of the angry wife, but rather one that to his ears sounded plaintive and almost childlike. It must be heartbreaking to have her husband's secret life laid bare. He had revealed too much to play the fop with her, and it wasn't fair to either of them. "No. Now come, let's get your ladies in to finish getting you dressed, my love. No crying, or we'll have to come up with a lie, and redo your face. After you dismiss them, I'll tell you all about it." She deserved an honest answer, or as much of one as he felt he could give. There were some things he knew she could never stand hearing, so he resolved to spare her those at least.

"I would like to hear it." She struggled to put conviction in her voice. "However, I don't feel that I can force a smile at the inane prattle of my ladies while I wait for that moment. I'll dress myself."

He glanced at the numerous lacings on her gown. She might have been able to pull it off, given an hour's time. "You're serious? Let me help you then." He took the role of her ladies-in-waiting. She had already applied her paint while waiting for him, so that was one less thing to do. He tried his hardest not to think about her in the sheer chemise as he laced her petticoats then lifted her gown over her head, as this was hardly the time, but he found it difficult. "Back when we were looking for any help we could find to fight the darkspawn, a Crow master sent a messenger when he got word I was here in Denerim, to present me with a mutually beneficial assignment."

She grunted as he pulled the laces tight. "That's too much. I won't be able to breathe, and it would be too difficult to change if I was seeing Ser Cauthrien this afternoon."

"Sorry, love. Perhaps you should start a new fashion trend and have court garb designed for you without corsets, that you can don and remove without the service of a dresser, or four." He paused in the midst of loosening the laces. "Come to think of it, I never learned who hired the Crows to get rid of of Howe's elite squad. Someone smart enough to realize the Blight was very real. I had suspected it was you. No? Anyway, imagine his surprise when I informed him that we already had escaped Howe's ambush, and his lackeys were dead." The story of his subsequent association with the Crows poured out, and he found once he finished that he felt much the same sense of relief as he confessed to his wife, as he had the time he had confessed to an understanding Revered Mother at the Chantry.

"And do you continue to take contracts from them?" She sat down to pull on her stockings, but looked up to meet his eyes.

"I've never earned a copper from them." That was true on the surface.

The few available _interesting notes_ in the past few years that he decided to _read_, he simply had written "gratis" at the bottom as his bid. Those few were contracts he that he agreed deserved to be carried out, so he offered a bid no one could beat. Two were for the return of more stolen artifacts that belonged in the Chantry, and not in a private vault. However, one was for an assassination. That didn't make him a murderer, far from it. He agreed with Zev that the murderer was the one who offered the contract. If not him, someone else would have taken the bid. Even warning the victim, if he had wanted to, wouldn't have prevented that. He simply fulfilled his obligation quickly and efficiently, with a minimum of discomfort to the victim, even if, in his opinion, the victim deserved all the torment he could inflict. In his mind, it was a mercy killing for the victim as well as the nameless person who had been driven to such an extreme.

He argued skillfully, "Anora, when would I have time? I freely admit I have kept in touch with them, as much to learn what Zev is up to as to learn who might be offering a local contract. I don't want Ferelden turning into Antiva, after all. And don't forget, your father's contract on me still stands, so I need to know if anyone arrives who might be willing to take the chance." That was true enough, and his activities with his Wolves and his court duties left him little enough free time. He dropped to his haunches beside her and fastened her garters, his fingers lingering on the tops of her thighs, and leaning close, letting her see him struggle with an impulse to let his lips follow.

She frowned and swiveled in the chair, moving her legs out of his reach. "Do you really think this is an appropriate time, or are you changing the subject?"

She was on to his tricks, so he went along with the distraction. He grinned sheepishly. "No, but I can't help myself, and I so rarely get to see you or touch you like this. You are beautiful, your skin is like silk, your womanly scent is intoxicating, and I'm a man. I make no apologies. It may surprise you to learn that sex is on the minds of men almost constantly. I wager even your personal guards have entertained lustful fantasies about assisting their beautiful queen with her corset or stockings as I am doing now, unless they're wondering what's in my trousers."

She stood and smoothed out her skirts. "I don't believe you. That's not true...is it?"

"Sorry to report, every word of it is, my love. We men are beasts. The Maker designed us that way, so take it up with Him." He stood and kissed her forehead, pleased that she didn't turn away, and that he had succeeded in changing the subject. "Shall we select your jewelry now?"

She shook her head. "Just the ruby ring and the opal brooch. I think I shall start a trend today of wearing less, as my own example of austerity. Now tell me about this Rivaini, Ser Wolf? Don't tell me he's who I think he is."

He arched an eyebrow then chided her gently. "I can hardly do both, love. Alright, I can't stand that reproachful look. He is, but I only met the gentleman when I was in Amaranthine. He sought me out to warn me about the plot against me. He offered to get me the proof I needed, hoping to enter my service, and he's made himself useful since as a member of our spy network. He was the one who found out about the conspirators hiding out in Kirkwall, and was the first to send word about the talk of invasion in the Orlesian salons."

Most of that was true, and she hadn't asked about his own association, so he went on. "I can also swear he's been blamed for crimes that took place when he was meeting with me. And I know for a fact that he's not the same Dark Wolf who terrorized your father's supporters during the blight and disappeared after the battle. He admitted he was using the name and notoriety to get my attention." That much was true too, though more than once, that was because they were committing the crime in question together. He was also pleased that she seemed to accept his explanation without inquiring further about how he _knew_ this man wasn't the same Dark Wolf.

He took a narrow red silk scarf, and put it around her neck, fashioning the long ends into an elaborate bow as he talked. It wasn't lost on her as she watched him that if he was an assassin, he could have fashioned it into a garrotte, and she'd hardly have time to react before he choked the life out of her, and she told him so. She had gotten strong, but he was stronger, and she couldn't make herself not think about whether he could easily snap her neck. She sighed. "I thought I had seen everything. I don't want to live in a constant state of paranoia, fearing an assassin behind every curtain. My father trained me from the time I was old enough to understand, to watch closely those trying to curry favor, to discern their motives. But I'm at the point of wondering if I can trust anyone."

That stung. He took her face in his hands gently. "You can trust me, Anora. In the name of Andraste, I swear it. I swear again that I will take care that none of my illicit associations come to light, so as not to cause embarrassment to you. And while I admit I have a vindictive streak, most of the time I'm motivated by a desire to protect those I love and cherish. Besides you and the children, that's come to include our people."

She sighed wistfully, knowing he was very devout, and would never take Her name in vain. "You. And Erlina. That's two. Can you buckle my shoes so we can go?" Already, her keen political mind was working on the problem as she removed her shoes from a wardrobe. "I can also trust Eamon and Isolde without question at court, though without her charity work, I think she would gladly shut herself away inside her estate waiting for letters from her son. I'll have to think on my courtiers. As far as the rest of the nobility, we can trust Highever and Redcliffe. The Bannorn and Amaranthine are still difficult. Maybe I should appoint someone loyal as Teyrn of Gwaren instead of ruling it through the governor until Moira's of age."

"So Moira won't be taking Gwaren?" Nigel had his own long range plans to set in motion before his Calling, which included arranging a marriage between his daughter Leanora and his nephew Bryce. He hoped he would live to see the start of a Cousland dynasty, though he hadn't been sure how the Landsmeet would react to both Teyrnirs and the crown being held by Couslands. But that was a problem for the future.

"As far as my own attendants go, I try to get rid of a courtier who is obviously, dangerously foolish or whom I don't think I can trust. That's why I have a such a reputation of being difficult. Barring that, I find out what the courtier needs and supply that need, so he is grateful, and indebted, to us. Take that little slut of yours who was sleeping on duty last night, for example. The gossip says she's bedded half the city seeking a husband with a title. I'm sure she would be indebted to you if you can introduce her to a few good candidates who would like a pretty, rich young wife, and who don't care about her questionable morals."

"You make it sound so easy. It sounds so..." She thought to say 'calculating,' but hesitated.

"So manipulative? That's one way of looking at it. I prefer practical. I'm the product of my mother, my love. You know of her kindness, and she was. One would never guess Eleanor Cousland was at turns persuasive and manipulative, but that was also the case. She was responsible for keeping the peace in Highever and with her neighbors, though even she didn't suspect the depth of Howe's treachery."

Anora agreed. "Though I never cared for the man, even I was surprised by his capacity for evil and depravity that was revealed once we reclaimed his estate here. To think he held Vaughn captive for all that time. To think of what he might have done to me if you hadn't gotten me out of there."

Nigel looked askance at Anora's high, narrow shoes as he knelt to fasten them. They came almost high enough on her ankles to be considered boots, and featuring a four inch platform, in the Orlesian court fashion. "As long as you're thinking of dressing more simply, love, I'd start with your shoes. They are darling, but you couldn't run in these if your life depended on it. I know I've harped on this for years, but it's still true."

She lifted her hem and looked down at her feet. "You're right. They are not very practical. Really, who designs these things for women, and why? Besides, I believe I'm done with Orlesian fashions. What good is it being queen if I can't set the trends? The more I think about it, the boots I wear to my training sessions are quite comfortable, even if they would look ridiculous with my gowns. I'll come up with a reason for my change."

She stood and turned so he could fasten a light green brocade silk cape around her shoulders. "Perhaps I'll no longer hide my training sessions either. Let the Orlesian spies know we're preparing for war. I think the girls should begin martial training too. That might be more important in the coming years than dance lessions."

He replied with concern, "Surely not Eleanor?" He had already been thinking along the same lines, at least concerning Moira and Erlina's son, whom he hoped to train himself in a way to make his father proud. But his frail daughter, with her chronic cough, that was another matter.

Anora replied decisively, "Especially Eleanor. We can't assume she's Chantry bound because she's already bookish, or that her sisters will always be able to protect her." She hesitated, being put in mind of another subject they had neglected, but she knew now she must discuss with him before he left. "What shall we do if one of them should show signs of magic? We could hardly do as Eamon and Isolde did and send her to Tevinter."

He shook his head. "Indeed, that would set a bad precedent. There's hardly any magic in my line. Still, if the unthinkable should happen, there's this dwarven girl whom Wynne and I arranged with Irving to be allowed to study with the Ferelden Circle. My contact in Orzammar says she finished her studies and returned with a few mages to start a circle there, outside the control of the Chantry. He told me the dwarves don't know what to make of it yet. But the mages are free to devote themselves to research without templars breathing down their necks, and they don't mind at all going out with dwarven squads to blast darkspawn to smoldering bits."

Anora shook her head. "Wouldn't that only set another bad precedent? I can't bear to think of one of my girls trapped under all that rock, but I suppose it's better than having her locked away in the Circle tower, especially since Irving and Gregoir are so old now, and who knows who will take their places. I've heard horror stories of the harsh restrictions on mages in the Marches, especially in Kirkwall. Fortunately, there's no magic in my family either." It passed through both their minds that they knew little about the family of Lea's birth mother, but they both immediately banished the thought.

Nigel looked distant, lost in memories again. He murmured, "You quickly forget Orzammar is so deep inside the mountains once you see the grandeur of the place. It took my breath away. I always wanted to take you there."

She sighed wistfully. "Yes, we've been so involved with rebuilding Ferelden and then with our growing family that we've put off things like diplomatic visits."

"Perhaps we can arrange it once this business is finished." His voice didn't carry any conviction though. "And getting back to that, we must take care, love. We don't want to appear to be preparing for war, lest we tip our hand. Be as courteous as usual with the Orlesians or any of their creatures, but give them subtle reminders that we defeated the archdemon with the help of the Maker alone. I'll do the same while I'm there, and look about for any trouble I can stir up for the good empress, though she's not behind this plot, or even knowledgeable of it yet."

Anora flushed, and her voice took on a harsh, shrill tone. "That we know of. She's more than done enough to hurt Ferelden. I don't believe for one minute that these plotters would be putting this plan in motion without knowing they would gain her approval, if it's successful."

She felt his hand tighten on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "She has a cousin, I believe, a baron or something, who it is said lusts for her throne. Perhaps you might look into this and make his acquaintance?" Celene might not be behind this conspiracy, but Anora had not forgotten that Celene had been trying to seduce Cailan away from her. There could have been a genuine attraction between her husband and that Orlesian tart. Or perhaps she had sought to conquer Ferelden the easy way, from her bed. The more trouble, subtle or not, that Nigel could stir up while in Orlais, the better for Ferelden.

Nigel nodded, knowing she was probably right. "I'll see what I can do, my Queen. Now then, are we ready to meet our little princesses?"

He stopped on their way through her sitting room to toss another piece of steak to Buddy, who snatched it out of the air and gobbled it down. He took another piece, and another muffin, for himself, wrapped in a linen napkin to devour on the way.

Anora studied him, worrying that he looked too thin, and wondering if that was due to the taint. When he had grabbed his snack, she took his free hand until she got her balance. "I still say you spoil them."

He winked at her. "Indeed I do, but I claim the privilege of fatherhood. Most men will tell you their daughters are little princesses, but in my case, it's true."

Two of their princesses had been pacing impatiently before the door that opened into a room that functioned as their classroom/playroom/dining room. But the third was sitting at a low table, patiently drawing a picture of a stick-figure dragon, with Gerard watching over her shoulder and offering helpful suggestions. Everyone turned as the door was slowly opened by one of Anora's guards, being careful in case a child was standing right behind it. The royal couple were greeted by excited squeals, especially from Moira, who had already grasped the concept of time, at least as far as it affected her small world. She had been impatiently watching the hands on the clock on the mantlepiece all morning, and unable to concentrate on her lessons as she kept glaring at it, willing the hands to move faster. Fortunately for her beleaguered nurse, her parents and their entourage arrived a full half hour before the two hands on the clock came together to reach twelve.

Moira charged up to her parents and demanded, "I want to go see the puppies now!"

Leanora scowled at her and growled her name, as she at least had put aside her own excitement to curtsey properly to their parents. Moira rolled her eyes, but complied with a perfunctory curtsey. Gerard made a courtly bow then ran over to his mother and was scooped up into her arms. Eleanor looked up at the commotion, and blinked as she realized they had arrived, then stood blushing and copied her sisters.

Nigel chuckled and swooped down to give them each a kiss. "Yes, finally. Now let us be off. As eldest, Leanora gets to ride on my shoulders."

Lea looked up and up up at her father, wide-eyed. It was such a long way up to his shoulders, and though he loved carrying her that way, it was scary, not that she let anyone see she was afraid, especially her sisters. But she thought quickly. "No, thank you, Papa. I'll wrinkle my dress, and I wish to hold Mama's hand." She slipped up beside Anora and curtsied again.

Anora smiled smugly at Nigel and took her tiny hand. "Of course, my darling girl. We can talk along the way."

"Then I get to sit on your shoulders!" Moira looked defiantly at her other sister, grabbed at her father's leg and would have climbed him like a tree, if she could.

He chuckled and helped her up then met the eyes of his other daughter, standing in front of him, an expression of quiet resignation on her face. "Moira, can you hold on by yourself? That way Eleanor can ride on my hip."

"Of course, Papa. I'm very strong!" She threw her arms around his neck confidently as he swung his other daughter up. He then offered his free hand to Anora.

They caught sight of themselves in a mirror as his family passed it in the hallway. He stopped and pointed with his chin. "Look here. Now this would be quite a picture. Pity my new favorite painter isn't here, or that there isn't some sort of spell to capture this image of us."

Anora looked into the mirror then looked away quickly, again finding herself fighting tears. It wasn't like her to struggle with her self-control like this, and it bothered her more than she would admit to anyone. "Perhaps we can sit for a family portrait later, when you return." She heard a catch in her voice, and hated herself for her weakness in front of her children and her courtiers. Yet she knew what was wrong. After everything they had been through, their future was once again uncertain, as if they had just walked into a darkened room and couldn't see the way. What really hurt was her realization that her husband of convenience did love her, despite his feelings for the Antivan. She knew that she didn't love him in the same way, but she did care for him too. Her feelings were deeper than she had suspected, and were laid bare now.

Nigel squeezed her hand. "That's a good idea. We will, when I return." He gasped suddenly as Moira tightened her grip around his neck, and not accidentally either, because he saw a flash of anger in her blue eyes as she looked from her mother to him, as if sensing something wrong with her, and knowing that what he said was the cause, even if she didn't understand why. He dropped Anora's hand and firmly pulled his daughter's arms away. "Moira, you're hurting your papa."

She muttered, "Sorry, Papa," and flushed, not even knowing why she should be angry with her father, and ashamed because she knew that he knew her apology wasn't sincere. Yet she was angry nonetheless, which made her angry at herself as well as him. She pulled an arm free and caught his hair in her hand, giving it a tug for good measure as she repositioned herself. But she did know. He was going away. Her entire life, he had been there, telling her stories, reading to her from the Chant of Light, singing her songs, and roughhousing with her in the way he rarely did with her sisters, and that her mother never did. She found herself wanting to pummel him with her fists to make him stay, and punish him for making her mummy look so sad. It wasn't fair!

What was worse was that her mother had seen what she had done and admonished her too. She would have grabbed his hair again, though she knew it meant she would end up walking, if not being banned from the outing altogether. She could see herself being carried back to the nursery kicking and screaming, without getting to see one puppy, but she couldn't stop herself! Maybe they would all get sent back! Good!

A moment later she let out a screech at a sudden sharp pinch on her backside. She glared down at her twin Eleanor, who met her eyes calmly. Moira glared at her and stuck her tongue out. Eleanor's gray eyes widened, and a moment later she lay her head against her father, suddenly overcome by a wracking cough. That was enough to bring Moira to the verge of tears, and she would have patted her sister's back if she could reach her, to help her catch her breath, like she often did. Poor Elle, now she might get sent back to bed without seeing a puppy, and it was all her fault!

Nigel patted Moira's hands comfortingly, as if he understood, and then motioned to a guard to take her off his shoulders so he could put Eleanor over his shoulder and he and Anora could rub her back until the spasm passed. She managed to get her coughing under control just as her nurse arrived with medicine and a spoon. After a final cough, she lay back against him with a deep shuddering breath. Funny that, he thought as he looked down at her pale hair, knowing how much she disliked the concoction. A stealthy attack like the one on her sister was just the kind of thing he could imagine himself having done as a small child. He also wondered for the first time, if she had learned to force her cough as a distraction or to get her way with her sisters. This one would bear watching, but he didn't want to alert Anora yet. He said softly, "If you're all feeling better, the Master of Hounds is waiting for us."

They reached the kennels without any further distractions. A courtyard had been prepared for the royal family, with a stately chair brought in for Anora's use. Everyone else could stand, but that would be unthinkable for the Queen of Ferelden, and the pain in her feet made her agree it was good to be the queen. The Master of Hounds entered with a brindle bitch on a lead, while his assistants followed with a large box containing her squealing pups. She stepped protectively towards the box as it was set on the ground, watching the noisy, excited children warily. As Anora and Nigel tried to contain the excitement of their brood, Buddy stepped up to nuzzle the nervous mother until she calmed. He followed up with a few short woofs, and she woofed back and sat down. He nuzzled her again and sat beside her, though she still anxiously watched the children and the box.

"Good boy," Nigel murmured to Buddy. He marveled again at the intelligence of the breed, and wondered how much Buddy had conveyed to her with those few woofs. He also wondered again if Mabaris shared some kind of psychic link. It was something he wished he had time to ask Brother Genitivi or one of his assistants.

The girls and Gerard sat on a oilcloth laid out on the ground, and one by one the puppies were taken out of the box and put on the cloth with them. They played for the better part of an hour until the pups grew hungry or sleepy. Their mother crept forward to nurse them, accepting that the human pups meant hers no harm. For all the children besides Moira, the novelty of puppies wore off as they also grew hungry and sleepy. While the others drifted back to their parents, Moira watched with a mix of fascination and barely contained impatience while the pups nursed then ambled away from their mother to play, or lay down to sleep.

She had a favorite already, a male that had a black muzzle like Buddy's, though she methodically picked each one of them up again, staring into their eyes waiting for, as her father had explained, the dog to stare back. But nothing magical happened; all she got from the encounters was to be nipped on the finger by one pup and peed on by another. She was beginning to doubt her father's story of bonding with a Mabari. She sighed. Nothing magical at all.

Nigel tried to pull his youngest daughter away from the puppies. "Come away, my little She-wolf. Let's get you cleaned up and get you something to eat. You must be getting hungry."

"I'm not hungry!" she insisted as she reluctantly let him help her nurse change her clothes.

Anora's seneschal had arrived with the agenda for court. She had been looking the list over, shaking her head. Other than a brace of squabbling Banns and the usual requests, nothing was vital, and all of it could be held for another day. However, then she would have even more on the agenda tomorrow. She announced in her imperial voice, "Since the weather is fine, I propose a picnic here, and we can combine court with that. Kindly inform the kitchen staff to send something simple, cold meats and cheeses is fine, along with my apologies for the short notice, and make the other arrangements." That was enough to get the girls squealing in excitement again. Her seneschal bowed and backed away to inform those waiting in the audience chamber. Erlina meanwhile gave orders to the courtiers to get everything ready.

It was an afternoon that memories were made of, that they would all look back on fondly for years to come. Nigel joined his brood on the cloth after their dutiful nurses had washed their hands so they could eat. Not that it mattered, because some of the puppies figured out how to climb over the side of their box, thanks to lures of meat and cheese offered by Moira. Anora breezed through court, then invited the feuding Banns to join her family for lunch. That was an honor neither could turn down. She watched her family wistfully from her improvised throne then called Lady Siobhan over to help her remove her shoes. She thought of removing her stockings as well, but decided it was better to ruin them than to go about in bare feet. She also couldn't get Nigel's suggestion of her guards looking on her bare feet and ankles with lust out of her mind. That done, she joined her family, accepting Nigel's assistance in sitting gracefully on the ground once he loosened some of her laces again, though her ladies insisted she sit on the cushions from the chair.

Moira had given up on leaving with her own Marabi _this time_, and was contenting herself with feeding them half of her lunch and being rewarded with grateful licks. But like her sisters, she was getting sleepy and ready for her nap. Her bottom was also sore where her sister had pinched her (she still couldn't believe Elle pinched her that hard! Her!), and her finger smarted from the puppy's bite, which kept her from drifting off to sleep as her twin had done, dozing peacefully across their father's lap. She was about to try to squeeze in beside her when her father handed her off to her nurse. Instead, she took her place, managing to stretch out in such a way that she not only lay across both her parent's laps, but also her older sister's, who had sandwiched herself in between them. The warmth of the afternoon made resisting sleep futile as the Master of Hounds' assistants gathered up the pups.

She was awakened as she dozed by a wet nose brushing her hand. It was the smallest pup, a brindle like her mother, but paler in color. The pup hadn't been retrieved yet and was rewarded in its search for a few crumbs missed by her litter mates. She wandered over to Anora as Moira watched, probably looking for more treats. Moira's eyes were beginning to close again when she heard her mother gasp and the pup bark softly. She popped open her eyes in time to see her mother pick up the tiny pup and draw it towards her, staring into its eyes!

Anora murmured, "It's true!" as she pet it softly. The pup licked her nose, wagging its stub of a tail. Anora turned to Nigel in wonder just as Buddy licked his face too. He returned a few friendly pats then put his arm around the dog.

"You remember that day, Buddy?" His companion barked and licked his face again. "Of course you do. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was such a boy."

Leanora exclaimed, "Does this mean Mama has her own Mabari?"

At hearing her sister's inquiry, Moira wailed, "NO FAIR!," and burst into tears.

Nigel pulled her close and wiped away her tears then kissed her dark hair. "It's better to wait until you're older. Otherwise, your Mabari won't have as much time to seek adventure with you, isn't that right, boy?"

Buddy licked his face again, and Nigel felt a lump in his throat, remembering how young he had been then. They had been through so much together, and Nigel was forced to acknowledge the white hairs growing in the scars on Buddy's back and muzzle. Buddy still had several good years ahead of him, he hoped, but he knew that the years since the Blight had been hard on his friend. He whispered, "You and I can have at least one more grand adventure, right Buddy?"

Anora was torn between trying to contain the excited pup and comfort her daughter, while her other daughter grumbled about her sister being a big baby. She murmured, "I have a Mabari! I don't know the first thing about taking care of a dog, but I can't send her back to the kennels. I suppose I'll need a basket for her to sleep in." She looked at Nigel helplessly, who just chuckled.

Gavin, the Master of Hounds, bowed and interrupted, "If I may, Your Majesty, she's old enough to leave her mother, so I'd like to volunteer my boy Derrick 'ere to help with trainin' her, at least until she's old enough that you two get to know one another and your bond is developed. Won't take no time at all, you'll see, and I've taught the boy everything I know about Mabaris." "He hooked a thumb at a dirty-faced shaggy-haired boy of about twelve years, who also bowed his head respectfully then grinned up at her hopefully.

It didn't take Anora long to make up her mind. "That's an excellent idea. Derrick, if you can gather your things, someone will find you a place in the royal apartments." Anora held her puppy up again and rubbed her nose against hers then set her back on the ground for her two remaining daughters to play with. "What shall I call you, hmmm? Celeste, perhaps?" Moira for her part was content for now that she had a puppy, even if it was hers by way of her mother.

The courtyard overlooked one of the roads into the city, and all afternoon as the court had picnicked, they had watched riders returning from the morning's hunt, either because they had already met with success, or had given up. Everyone made a game of trying to be the first to identify the riders as they came into view. At one point Anora stretched her neck and screwed up her eyes as one of her ladies announced she saw two riders slowly coming into view. "I think that's Teagan, with that woman who is the mayor of Redcliffe village. Bella, isn't it? It doesn't look like they shot anything. They must be resting the horses after a hard ride in the forest."

Nigel snickered, suppressing his first response that he didn't believe they were at the hard ride stage of their relationship yet, as smiled at nature taking its course. "They're riding slowly because they're in conversation, that's all. I'll talk to you about that later."

Anora looked puzzled. "Oh?" She smiled a minute later as it occurred to her why a handsome man and a pretty woman would be taking a leisurely ride on a fine day. She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh!" She leaned close and whispered, "Really?"

Nigel merely winked, being mindful of courtiers standing close, the better to eavesdrop, and not wanting to make his friend the subject of court gossip. He turned his attention back to the road. "But look, there are some more riding fast!" He stood and peered at the riders. "The one in the lead looks like an elven woman, and there's someone lying across the saddle of the horse behind her. Someone has been hurt!"

Anora stood with lady Siobhan's aid so she could get a look. "She looks like that Orlesian maid. Who is it behind her? It looks like a man. Ser Anton, perhaps? I hope whoever he is, he isn't hurt too badly." But she knew that there could be no other reason for the rider's haste. Anora took action. "Someone get a healer down there, and I need someone find out what's happened for me!" With the garden party abruptly ended, she quickly ushered her daughters off to their nurses and released her pup to his young trainer.

"I'll find out what has happened." Nigel quickly motioned one of his men over. "Owain, go get Sister Verity and meet me at the gate." After giving Anora a kiss on the cheek, Nigel and Buddy sprinted towards the stairs.


	9. Accidents Happen

Chapter 9 Accidents Happen

Usual disclaimer: The characters in this story are not mine and are owned by EA/Bioware, and other entities, but not by me. I do feel no shame in taking their Cousland noble and his dog as my own. This chapter has been a long time coming, but after the ending debacle of ME3, I haven't had the heart to touch anything related to Bioware.

Nigel sprinted down a stairwell, taking steps two at a time, deftly sidestepping a pair of startled guards. Buddy followed closely behind him, and began barking loudly to alert others of their mabari charge down the stairs. From their vantage point on a hill, the picnickers had spotted the riders while they were still well over a mile from the city gates. It was easier for Nigel, being on foot, to thread his way through the city streets than for the riders to make their way through the assorted travelers, coaches, and wagons approaching the city. Therefore, he arrived far ahead of the riders.

Meanwhile, Owain burst through the doors of the Chantry, his long wavy brown hair having come loose from its binding in his flight, and now flowing in his face, giving him a wild, disheveled look. He was blocked immediately by two templars on guard. After explaining the reason for his haste, one of the templars directed him to the grand chapel, where he was told Sister Verity was waiting for evening prayers.

It took him no time at all to spot the tall, elegant woman, old enough to be his...aunt, yes, but a very youngish, beautiful aunt. To his mind she seemed out of place, but elegant nonetheless, even in the robes of a Sister. Not that there weren't more attractive Sisters, and he had entertained thoughts alone in his room that he would later repent for about more than a few. But this Sister had something special; he thought she wouldn't have been out of place in a regal gown at the past night's ball. She seemed even taller than she was because her long chestnut hair was always worn in a bun piled high on top of her head, adding three extra inches of height. When he had seen her at night, even after having been disturbed from her slumber, wearing only a simple sleep chemise, and with her waist-long hair in a simple braid but worn off to the side, she still managed to look elegant.

Beside her sat a equally slender, bespectacled elf-blooded man named Zinn, her assistant, dressed in the robes of a brother, though the presence of a tempar chaperone and the staff that rested against the pew between them marked him as a mage. Luckily, prayers hadn't begun yet, so Owain quickly finger combed his unruly hair and pushed it off his face into a semblance of order, strode up to the Sister, and bowed formally, then explained his mission.

She smiled up sweetly at him, and replied, "For his Highness? Any time, Owain." She liked him best of all the prince's retainers she had met. She thought he was such a pleasant young man, even though he seemed a bit roguish, not that she had any right to look down her nose at that. Perhaps it was the earring, or perhaps not. Most of the time it was he who dropped off a monthly stipend from the royals for the operation of the infirmary. She thought it was cute the way he mimicked the prince's clothing and hair styles. That suggested to her a certain amount of worshipful respect, but more than that. She suspected that Owain was in love with his prince, but she knew from court gossip that filtered even into the Chantry that the prince didn't sleep with his retainers, poor boy.

Owain couldn't help himself but to grin like a schoolboy, despite the seriousness of the situation, because this lovely creature had spoken his name, in a voice that reminded him of velvet and tinkling bells as the same time. He couldn't have been happier if Andraste herself had addressed him. "Maker bless you, Sister Verity." She seemed the very picture of grace and genteelness, though he knew she wasn't what she appeared.

The prince had once told him he first met Sister Verity when he and his former companion Leliana had traveled to Denerim during the Blight, and while there, had confronted a master bard and enemy of Leliana's named Marjolaine. He said the confrontation had quickly turned deadly, resulting in Marjolaine and her accomplices lying dying or dead, and all of the prince's companions wounded. As the apostate who had come with them to provide their firepower was not a healer, and had also been badly wounded herself, they laid low under cover of darkness in an abandoned warehouse used as a safe house by the Gray Wardens. Leliana had drunk their remaining healing potion and had gone for help, saying she knew someone "with a past" at the Chantry.

It was difficult for Owain to imagine this genteel woman having "a past," however. The prince told him the good Sister had returned with Leliana, bringing her healer's bag and a few precious potions that she could spare. In return, he insisted she take her choice of the things Zevran had looted from Marjolaine and her lackeys as payment. She reluctantly looked over the loot then asked only for one of the daggers, after handling it, he told him, with more skill than one would expect from a Sister. But she had told them what she really needed was as much coin as they could spare for her infirmary, explaining she could hardly be seen fencing armor and weapons without raising suspicions. The prince had given her what he had, and swore that he would reward her kindness when he was in a position to do so.

Being one of his few confidants, Owain was aware that since his coronation, Prince Nigel had been an infrequent patient of hers, and she in turn served as one of his clandestine informants in the Chantry, letting him know about problems or injustices in his kingdom she had overheard discussed or which had turned up in Chantry gossip, that must be rectified, but outside of official channels. He told Owain that the first time after the Blight that he had slipped into her room behind the infirmary silently, but not so silently that he didn't awaken her (he told Owain he was impressed that she had enough time to draw that dagger that she kept under her pillow), he presented with an abject apology and a wound that needed her immediate attention, one that would have been impossible for him to explain to the royal healer.

Another night Owain had been recruited as a lookout and was waiting nervously on a rooftop. When his prince finally appeared on the ground below, he had whistled their signal faintly to get his attention, leaning on a stranger wearing blackened armor and a black mask that obscured his face. The stranger saluted Owain when he joined them and blended into the shadows. Owain had needed to accompany the prince to the good Sister's room, half carrying him, while watching for alert guardsmen along their way. She patched him up without any questions, just as he didn't ask his prince any questions about who the man in black was, or how he got the wounds either.

It wasn't that Owain was unaware of his prince's esoteric talents and nocturnal habits. That's how he came into his service after all, back when the prince was serving as Warden Commander at Vigil's Keep. He had sneaked into the prince's bed chamber one night for a bit of snooping and looting for some traveling money before absconding to somewhere free of darkspawn. He chose him as his target because he was likely to have something worth looting, but also as a personal challenge to see if he could get past the guards. The prince and his fellow Wardens were supposed to have been in Amarantine, or at least the ones who might have noticed his sneaking around, like that equally sneaky dwarven wench.

He hadn't found much worth the risk he had taken, except a bag of coins and a small chest that defied his lockpicks. He had been so deep in concentration over the latter he didn't even hear the prince come into the room, until he heard him say softly, "Well now, what have we here." Owain had felt his heart in his throat, which is where the prince's blade was pointing, but acting on instinct, he grinned at him and shrugged his shoulders. The prince grinned back, and Owain took the opportunity of the distraction to sprint to the window. However, he hadn't expected the prince to chase him out of it and down a wall, or to catch him either. He saw murder in the prince's eyes after a flying tackle that knocked the air out of him.

He had fully expected at the very least for him to summon the guard and have him locked up, or end his life with that dagger, which was again at his throat. Indeed, he had growled, "I could kill you now, or I could conscript you into the Gray Wardens." But he surprised Owain when he instead asked for his story. Owain had answered his questions about how he had gotten past the guards, and how he expected to get away with his pilfering truthfully, with the impeccable honesty of someone who has nothing to lose and fully expects to lose everything—those eyes said it all. The prince heard him out then sat back off him and said simply, " I suspect you have more that you can offer me alive, and I've lost enough talented people to the Joining. Hanging you, or throwing you off this roof, would also be a waste. Don't you make me regret my decision."

Owain knew he would have done it too, and also knew no one would have given the death of one of the porters due to a fall from a roof, where he didn't have any business being anyway, much notice. So he entered his service, grateful for a second chance at life. Putting Amaranthine to the torch and coming back to the Keep to save them all cemented his loyalty to his new lord. The prince in turn had seen that he was educated in every way so he would blend in—he taught him how to dress, how and what to eat and drink, and schooled him in the ways of the Court before they returned to Denerim. Once there he worked to overcome his rustic lower class accent. He was now well paid, and had a room of his own with clean sheets and finer clothes than he had ever owned in his life provided for him. Now no one who hadn't known him before would guess he hadn't been born a gentleman.

Yet he feared there would be another price to be paid. For the first months, whenever the prince awakened him in his room or summoned him at night for some training in skulking, he fully expected him to try to educate him in another way, but it never happened. At first Owain was relieved, but he also was surprised to discover he felt offended too, as if he wasn't handsome enough to draw his attention. His hurt feelings didn't last long once he reminded himself that he hadn't wanted that kind of attention. When he told him his opinion was always a breath of fresh air, it didn't take long to understand that his prince valued him as a voice from outside the court, and not as a potential conquest.

Before long, they got on so well that the prince began confiding in him and sending him on personal errands such as to arrange his visits to _The Pearl_. Thus Owain also knew that on two occasions his prince had gone to Sister Verity or Zinn after hours when he had picked up a nasty disease that would cause embarrassment to the queen if the news got out. Owain knew because he had also had an occasion to visit them for the same reason. Though he didn't need to be as discreet about it as the prince had been, he sought treatment from Zinn rather than the lovely Sister, because he had discovered on his way there he was too ashamed to face her and lay all his sins bare. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't have scolded or belittled him, but he found that he cared about her opinion of him very much. There hadn't been many people like that in his young life, his prince being another.

That brought his mind back to the present and his reason for his hasty summoning. "Shall we be off?"

Sister Verity turned to Zinn. His stomach replied for him with a loud rumble, and he scowled and flushed in embarrassment and ran a bony hand through his unruly red hair. Sister Verity smirked and patted his other hand. If it had been any other noble's retainer requesting that he not only miss prayers, but also give up his supper, Zinn would have declined, unless his patient was at death's door. Many of the nobles kept doctors as part of their household, even for their servants, so Zinn reserved his services for the laborers and the poor, who couldn't even afford the questionable doctors that set up shop plying plasters, herbal concoctions, and leeches in back alleys in the Docks and the Merchant Quarter.

But Zinn was nearly as devoted to his Queen and her Prince as he was to his faith. He replied with resignation, "Very well. Hopefully this won't entail more than setting a broken leg, and we'll be back at a decent hour."

Though a mage, Zinn had been given leave by his queen and the Grand Cleric to live among the brothers in the Chantry in Denerim. He had been raised there, an elf-blooded baby abandoned on a back pew, and had always felt a deep devotion to the mysteries of Andraste. His faith was so strong as a boy that he hoped to become a Brother, until the curse of magic manifested in his early teens. Instead of resigning himself to his fate, he had taken this as a test of his devotion and studied the articles of the faith and the healing arts in addition to the theories of magic, while locked away in the Circle Tower.

He passed his Harrowing easily, surprising nearly everyone except Irving and Senior Enchanter Wynne, though until he had, he had been afraid he would be made tranquil because of his lack of enthusiasm for magic. His success was to him a sign of his Lady's grace. Not many of his peers had been interested in the gentle healing arts and spells as he was. Then when he heard of Sister Verity's small infirmary behind the Chantry from one of the templars four years ago, he knew it was a sign he belonged there. He had been inspired to write four missives, to petition the Knight Commander, the First Enchanter, the Grand Cleric, and also Queen Anora, to be allowed to work there as a lay brother.

His petition had been granted by the queen and Irving, but Knight Commander Gregoir and the Grand Cleric set a condition that he must be supervised by a templar. Zinn accepted, and wasted no time in pressing him into service as his clerk (Zinn had suggested he might as well make himself useful instead of standing around glowering at him all day). It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, as the templar didn't have much else to do besides stand guard over one mage. Zinn worked contentedly alongside Sister Verity, who was thrilled to have an associate with his dedication and level of skill in making potions and medicines. They were busy enough that they recently took on three teenage acolytes, who were studying medicine and the rites of the faith while they searched their hearts to determine if they were called to take vows.

Zinn thought that gaining the Queen's support had also been the prince's doing, because of his friendship with the First Enchanter and with Zinn's mentor,Wynne, who had told him she had written to the prince on Zinn's behalf. After having gotten to actually know a few mages, and even traveling with an apostate during the Blight, the prince learned that they weren't monsters in lurking just waiting to burst loose upon the citizens of Ferelden, so he had persuaded Queen Anora to lift restrictions on them; Zinn was always ready to reward that trust.

In addition, as a Gray Warden, he and his companions saved him and a handful of the mages still alive from being murdered in the Rite of Annulment, by first defeating the abominations that had seized control of the tower. It had only been a year since his Harrowing. He had been cowering in terror in a cupboard near the chapel, praying for deliverance, when the prince heard his whispered prayers, threw open the cupboard door, and halted his sword inches from him. If it had been the templars who had found him, Zinn was certain they wouldn't have stopped their blades despite his prayers, whether he was an abomination or not.

And then when the queen was in labor with her twins, Zinn had been impressed that instead of merely waiting her ordeal out other than an occasional kiss on the forehead or a pat on the hand, as many expectant fathers do, after the first day wore on into a second, the prince had requested that in addition to prayers, the full Chant of Light be sung until she was safely delivered. He even joined in the service, adding a surprisingly rich baritone. That alone justified treating his questionable wounds and occasional but understandable filthy diseases, and justified missing his supper now. Zinn stood and glanced at the altar, where Revered Mother Glenda was about to begin. "Very well. Let's go before we cause any further disruption to the service."

Sister Verity turned to their two young apprentices seated in the pew behind them and said softly, her voice a gentle whisper, "Dora, you're on dragon duty. Your mission is to have supper set aside for us if we don't make it back in time. You know how stern Sister Grizelda can be, but be brave. And Dahven, I need you to run downstairs and fetch us a healer's kit and meet us outside Wyvern Gate. Go quickly now!" She, Zinn, and his templar guard followed Owain, who sprinted out of the temple.

They reached the gate, where the prince and a half dozen guards were waiting. In a few short minutes, an elven woman on horseback leading another horse came into view. Teagan, who had realized that something was wrong when they rode past him and Bella, had spurred his horse to catch up to see if he could help, and had caught up to the second horse. She reined hard as they neared the gate.

It was indeed Iolanthe, the maidservant of the Orlesian ambassador. She sprung gracefully off her bay filly as Nigel grabbed the reins of the other, two guards trying in vain to intercept him. She looked around at the size of her reception committee. It was bad enough that one of the nobles had followed her and nearly caught up, forcing her to spur her horse to try to outrun him. Why were they all here? Had someone seen and reported back? Her fear threatened to strangle her. But how was that even possible? That was the small rational part of her brain that took over as the rest of it was about to be overcome by the fearful part. She remembered what Madame had taught her, opened her large green eyes that the shem found so beautiful as wide as she could, put her hand over her forehead as if she felt faint, and cried in alarm, "Please help him!"

Teagan also sprang off his horse and put his hand on the elven woman's shoulder, both to restrain her and to comfort her, though to him she had seemed eerily calm when he first spotted her riding by leading another horse with an obviously injured rider, and she had ignored his hailing her as they rode towards the city. Yet she flinched and gasped when he touched her, and the wild look in her eyes revealed to him a growing hysteria. "Come away, let them work." He assumed the woman was in shock as she rooted herself to the ground when he tried to lead her away. "Tell me what happened."

Owain and two of the guards quickly untied the bindings which held the man on the horse's back, made up of strong twine he had in his saddlebag to bind any game he might have caught to the horse. They gently lifted him off the horse with the help of Zinn's templar guard and carried him to the cart, where Zinn and Verity were going through the kit that an out-of-breath Dahven had just brought them, having run the entire way. But they knew the minute they moved him, and it was clear to the healers from his ashen color and the way their patient's head lolled to the side awkwardly, that he was dead.

Nigel pushed his way through his too careful guards, who again tried in vain to hold him back from possible danger. "This is the Orlesian ambassador's guard Anton. What happened?"

Zinn threaded his way through the guards and his prince, then announced after a brief examination, "He's dead, your Highness. I expect you knew that already. Appears to have suffered a skull fracture. From the dirt on his clothing and these abrasions, I'd guess he fell off his horse. There's nothing more to be done except to pray for him." His templar guard grunted in agreement and joined Zinn as extended his right arm towards the deceased and began a prayer, "Blessed are they who go to the Maker's side..." Nigel and two of his guards bowed their heads respectfully and repeated the words.

Sister Verity began examining the body after they concluded the prayer for the dead. She turned towards Iolanthe. "I am sorry, my dear, but there isn't anything we could have done, even if we had been out in the forest with you. Was he a friend of yours?"

All eyes except Zinn's turned towards Iolanthe, who looked as if she was being forcibly restrained by Arl Teagan, by the way she tried to get out of his grip. The more she tried to shrug him off, the tighter he held on. It was maddening and revolting, and it was all she could do not to let her revulsion show, even if this one had kind eyes, so rare in a shem. She had learned to read their eyes when she was very young. She stammered as tears welled up, "No. I mean yes, Anton, he also serves my lady. He must have...I think...fallen off his horse...yes? I found him...the horse, I mean. So I rode back with his horse until he led me to Anton."

Tegan pulled her close, fearing that she might run off in her agitated state and cause harm to herself. He tried to make conversation. "Were you at the hunt? I didn't see you when the hunting parties gathered this morning."

As soon as he said it, he flushed as the accusatory nature of his words hit his ears. He wouldn't have necessarily noticed an elven servant, even one as pretty as this one. Yet he did recall seeing the Orlesian by himself, and behaving quite differently than the night before at the ball, when Teagan had lost count of the times he turned to find the man watching him, or standing right behind him, wearing a broad smile that was almost a grimace, or licking his lips slowly, his eyes meeting Teagan's then darting away and back. He had wondered at the time if the man was either very drunk or touched in the head, or perhaps suffering from fits.

Iolanthe thought, "Is that a challenge? Does this shem suspect something? Yet how could he know?" She hadn't even realized when she passed him and a woman sitting talking on their horses off the road that he had followed her as she rode past, she was so intent on crafting her story. She only became alarmed when he called to her, and she had realized he was following. But the shem's eyes showed only concern. If as his eyes suggested, he was a kind, sympathetic man, she could use that.

"That is true. My lady, she ordered me this morning to join the hunt assist him, but really to keep an eye on him, so as not to cause the embarrassment to Orlais, because he was very drunk last night and also still this morning. But he cursed me and spurred his horse and left me behind. I should have caught up to him sooner, but...I have little experience riding horses, and my lady would have beaten me if he had done anything embarrassing." She uttered a deep sob and buried her face in her hands, stealing a glance back at him between her fingers.

The first part of her tale was true. Anton had been in a foul mood when he returned to their chambers. He had thrown a vile curse at her in passing then slapped her when she dared answer back in kind. He didn't bother to hide his contempt for her race at the best of times, but she could tell his pride had been wounded by his inability to find someone who wanted to spend the night with him, or at least an hour of what remained of it. He still had been in a dark mood this morning when he dragged himself out of bed after she awakened him so that he could make it to the stables, where the nobles who were going on the hunt were meeting. He had grabbed her by the wrist, and shoved her towards the door, demanding she bring him coffee. She did, and had been temped to spit in it, but she didn't, nor did she follow her second impulse, which was to add a concoction that would give him diarrhea.

Madame hadn't done anything to support her either(as usual, as much as she respected her otherwise), other than to shush him as if he was merely a spoiled child. Her madame in turn hadn't bothered going to bed at all, her voice giddy as she had bragged to Iolanthe when she awakened her in the pre-dawn hours (not caring that Iolanthe had only had a few hours' sleep herself) that she had won the fop prince over to their side without having to bribe him or bed him. She allowed Iolanthe to go back to bed after telling her about her evening, while she had stayed up to write and seal coded letters to be sent on the first ship leaving for Orlais. She told Iolanthe when she got up again that she had a mind to ask the fop to deliver her letters to her fellow conspirators for her, to add insult to injury.

Yet she had warned her they still had to be careful. Therefore, she had sent Iolanthe to attend Anton after she noted his state as he struggled, cursing, to fasten his silver spurs. There Anton ordered her to saddle his horse, and not to give him any backtalk. So she had, but not taking care to make sure she had fastened the cinch correctly or that no one had slipped burrs under the saddle. He leaped into the saddle after a final curse, aiming a kick at her but missing, and spurred the horse hard to get ahead of the other hunting parties. Madame had taught her how to ride and care for a horse when she first took her under her wing, so it had taken Iolanthe no time at all to saddle another horse and catch up to him.

His behavior was so odious that it wasn't difficult to learn from the other hunters which way "that Orlesian bastard" had gone. His horse was agitated anyway because he had been digging in his spurs and whipping it when he spotted a deer, taking out his mood on the poor beast. She didn't mean it to happen, but he cursed her when she rode up to him, blaming her for having missed his shot, told her he didn't need a "knife-eared whore for a nursemaid," and swung his bow at her when she refused to leave him alone.

She didn't mean for it to happen. It had been a natural reaction to raise her riding crop and strike back, catching the poor horse by accident and causing it to rear up and throw him off. He had seemed alright at first, though he had been furious, and swore he would give her the beating of her life as he hauled himself to his feet. He was limping and grabbed a branch to use as a makeshift crutch. He caught the horse, appearing unsteady on his feet, and hauled himself into the saddle. He glared at her and raised the branch. And then as she grabbed at it, he slumped forward against the horse's neck. She didn't mean for it to happen...yet she reminded hadn't been very careful with saddling his horse, had she.

The rest was a blur. She recalled laughing like a madwoman for a moment, thinking that all his hopes for glory in battle were now thwarted. She heard herself mutter that he deserved to die in a ditch, but this was the Maker's own justice too. He had groaned another threat; he was still alive, so she took the twine from the saddlebag and tied his hands in front of him and around the saddle's pommel. If they rode fast, they could get back to the city and get him help.

But as she worked, she thought about what would likely happen when they returned. She was certain he would blame her for his foolish accident, or even accuse her of having tried to murder him. There was only one way out she could see. She picked the branch he had dropped and swung it with all her strength against the back of his head. He stopped groaning after that, but she waited a few minutes to be sure.

Her initial spiteful carelessness could easily be interpreted as deliberate intent to murder, even if she hadn't subsequently become a murderer. She had never taken a life, not directly anyway. Once they returned to Orlais, his family connections were close enough to the empress that she would have been arrested on a mere word from his mother, and she knew her Madame could do little to have her freed, if she did anything at all. Even here, could she trust that Madame wouldn't blame her to take blame off herself and leave her to Fereldan justice? And now she saw to her horror that the shem prince was walking over to join the lord holding her. It was all she could do not to jab an elbow into the arl's side and run until she was out of breath, but could she outrun the prince's dog?

Nigel walked to the pretty elf and put his hand on her shoulder to offer comfort, but withdrew it as soon as she flinched from his touch. He could sense barely concealed revulsion, not to mention an unguarded shadow of loathing that flitted across her eyes. He had seen that look too often in the eyes of other elves, and he didn't have to be told how she must have been treated by a man or men in Orlais to cause her to react that way.

His first feeling was one of pity and concern for her that as a servant, and worse, as an elf, she could be blamed for this accident. She wore thick face powder like anyone from Orlais did, but he could just make out a carefully concealed bruise on her cheekbone, and he spotted another bruise that peeped out from the edge of her sleeve, that suggested someone had grasped her by her wrist hard enough to bruise her. Did this brute or the other Orlesian hurt her, or had her mistress? The thought made him angry.

Yet she also was the "maidservant" of a bard...or so they claimed, and something felt off, though he wasn't certain what that was yet. It could be nothing more than his own instincts, or the signs that Leliana had taught him to look for. She had also taught him first and foremost, always to trust his first instinct. Questions sprang to his mind. For one thing, how did this tiny woman get Anton back on his horse, when he had certainly been in no condition to help her. It could have been as simple as an adrenaline rush; otherwise she must have had help. But then where was her helper, or rather, accomplice? What if this was not a misadventure, but murder? There was only one way to try to figure it out.

Nigel put on his best concerned smile, and spoke softly, as he would to calm a skittish horse. "Do not blame yourself, my lady. It's not your fault that Anton was stubborn and went off on his own; 'tis a pity that at the very least he didn't bring the ambassador's manservant with him. Don't blame yourself; she can't blame you for not reaching him in time if she knew you couldn't ride well. And if she does blame you, I promise I'll speak to her for you. And if she discharges you, I'll find a place for you in the royal household." He was sincere, if she was innocent. And if not, she might make a good ally against the conspirators.

He saw that his words were having an effect, so he pressed his advantage and watched for her reaction. He continued, "Accidents on horseback do happen, even if one is perfectly sober."

Her reply contained a whisper of a sigh. Here was another kind shem, so unlike those in Orlais. She had no intention of becoming a servant again, even in the royal palace, at least not until she had gotten enough money to move on. And that would never happen if she were a mere servant, yet she knew she could never stand to become the mistress of one of them. Madame had taught her much, perhaps enough that she could make a living as a bard on her own, if she had something to live on at first.

She took his offered silken handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and smiled up at him. "Indeed, accidents happen, Your Highness." She turned her head and looked back at the cart holding Anton's corpse.

He replied softly, "Indeed they do, though I'm sure Ser Anton would have much preferred to have died gloriously in battle. He was going on about the exploits of the chevaliers in some battle with the Nevarrans last night."

Iolanthe's eyes were fixed on the healers, who were still examining Anton's body. The brother in particular was looking at a tear in one of the fingers of Anton's glove, which he removed. What could he be doing? She swallowed hard and muttered distractedly, "Yes, always he went on and on about the chevaliers, fighting the glorious battles of the past that he missed because he was too young, and bragging about his great prowess in the battles which have not even come." She froze in horror as she realized what she had said and gave the prince a sideways glance, but he too seemed focused the healers.

Or so she thought. Nigel smiled inwardly at getting proof that Anton was more than a mere bodyguard. Though he sent a quick prayer for him for the Maker welcome him to his side, he was thankful that this was one less chevalier to threaten his land. He planned to ride out and find the site of the accident in the morning if he could too, though he had little time if the weather cooperated and the captain wanted to sail tomorrow night.

Over at the cart, being of a practical mind, Zinn was using the unfortunate accident as a teaching opportunity, pointing out the deceased man's injuries, and explaining the evidence of the deceased's regular excessive consumption of alcohol to his young apprentice. He pulled back one of Anton's eyelids. "Now besides what I showed you regarding his fingernails, observe here. Note the yellow tinge...even without the stench of stale liquor, this clearly indicates..." He glanced up to see if his pupil understood, and noted that he was instead staring at the prince. Understandable, he supposed. He had probably never been this close to royalty. Still, he was missing an opportunity. He snapped in annoyance, "Pay attention, my boy."

Dahven flushed as Nigel met his eyes gave him a brief wave, and quirked a smile at him. The boy hastily turned back to his mentor and asked every question he could think of. "I'm sorry, Brother. Are you saying you think his drinking caused him to lose his balance and fall then? Or perhaps the horse was distracted by his body odor? What were you saying about this abrasion on his left cheek? But there's another, here behind his right ear. Could he have gotten those both when he fell?"

Zinn adjusted his spectacles and peered at the prince, whom he caught looking away after stealing one more glance at the boy. Zinn turned to his apprentice, who was pointedly studying the corpse, and observed coolly that the boy could almost pass as a younger version of the prince, except for having higher cheekbones and hair that was lighter than the prince's color of ripe wheat. But he had the same long nose and angular face.

There were rumors the prince had bastards, but he would have to have been about the same age as his apprentice was now when this boy was conceived. Knowing what he knew of the behavior of youth (not that he was much older than a youth himself), even while locked away somewhere like the prison of Circle Tower, he didn't discount that. They were definitely related, he was certain of that. But it was none of his concern, and wouldn't affect how he behaved with Dahven. He actually hadn't noticed that bruise behind the man's ear, hidden by his long black braid, and he told him so and gave him an appreciative smile. "That's a very good catch, my boy."

Nigel offered his arm to Iolanthe. "Come, let us walk you back to the castle. Don't worry, I'll go with you and explain what has happened to your mistress for you."

Iolanthe stole another glance at Anton and looked quickly away. As much as it should have disgusted her having this shem prince touch her, he did seem sincere in caring about what happened to her. Not all of them were as bad as her former master. She took his offered arm. "You are too gracious, your highness. Thank you."

Verity called over to him as she closed her healer's bag, "Should we have the deceased taken to the Chantry, Your Highness? We can prepare his body for cremation in the morning, unless it is to be returned to his family in Orlais."

Nigel nodded at her. "Yes, that's an excellent idea, Sister. I'll find out from the ambassador where to send his ashes, and see that they're delivered myself. Owain, would you go with them and help them with the cart?"

Owain could hardly contain his joy at the opportunity to spend a bit more time with the Sister. He bowed formally. "As you wish, Your Highness."

Nigel was about to ask two of the guards take charge of the horses and return them to the royal stables, but Teagan volunteered. "Let me, Your Highness. Bella and I have to take our horses back to the stables anyway." He smiled sweetly at her as Bella rode up and dismounted. As pleased as he was to see Bella, there was something about the elven woman's story that bothered him, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He thought about dropping by Nigel's chambers tonight to discuss it with him, if the prince wasn't occupied, and if Bella didn't invite him to her chamber after supper with the rest of the delegation from Redcliffe. It was not a suggestion he would ever make to a lady, so he ached for her to make it to him.

Bella, however, was just glad to be off the horse. She wasn't used to riding for so long, and feeling quite saddle sore. Happily, one of the benefits of traveling with the Arl of Redcliffe was the warm bed and hot bath she didn't even need to coax out of the household staff. The afternoon in his company, culminating in finally getting him all to herself, had very pleasant. He made frequent visits to the village, but they were always too busy to be able to spend much time together. For her part, she rarely had a reason to travel up the hill to the castle, and when she did, it was always on official business.

She was pretty sure now that her arl was as interested in her as she was in him, but she thought after getting to know him better that he had been too shy to pursue her. It very was tempting to take the initiative and invite him to her room, but that seemed too forward. She was working so hard to erase her past as a barmaid, now that she was a successful tavern owner and the mayor of Redcliffe village. She kept hoping all afternoon he would suggest they meet alone after supper, hopefully in his chamber, but he hadn't. It was just as well; she was tired, and that bath beckoned.

As if he read her mind, he smiled at her with concern and said, "You look very tired, and you're limping. Did you injure your foot?"

He was such a considerate man, and the people of Redcliffe were blessed to have him as their arl. She stifled a yawn then chuckled. "No, my lord. My...back is a bit stiff is all."

"What you need is a hot bath and a tankard of mulled wine. That will be just the thing." He hesitated for a moment then added, "I have a poultice in my bags I could bring to you after supper. It does wonders on stiff muscles."

She looked up at him through her lashes, but his suggestion seemed perfectly innocent, unfortunately. Still, it was an opportunity that she didn't intend to waste. "I would greatly appreciate that, my lord, if it's not too late after supper and after my bath?"

He tried not to flush, but could feel his cheeks coloring. And there was the matter of the woman's story that still troubled him. They were also having supper at his brother's estate with the rest of the Redcliffe delegation. Suddenly, he found he wasn't in the mood for a formal supper. He heard himself accidentally saying that all aloud and blushed fully. But he was rewarded by her sigh of relief.

She said frankly, "She did seem strange now that you mention it, and I'm not looking forward to another fancy dinner party either. I'm too tired to worry about which fork to use, or whether I've taken too big a drink of my wine." She blushed too, but they both chuckled. She added, "I'd just as soon take a bath now, and you could go see the prince and drop that poultice by on your way back." It occurred to her that would also get him to her chamber, at least for a few minutes.

She was always full of practical suggestions and advice. That was the thing he liked best about her. He made his own. "Better yet, I could send the prince a message to meet me later before he sails, and arrange for supper to be brought to for you to your room. That way you don't need to go without." He was already drafting the note to Nigel in his mind. They had neared the stables, and he motioned one of the waiting stable hands to take the horses.

She wasn't the kind of woman who would refuse such an opportunity. "Can you make an apology to their excellencies for me then?" Missing supper was a relief in more ways than one. The arlessa was nice enough, but so intimidating with her fine Orlesian manners. She took her bag from the horse before it was led away. She watched him for a moment, noting that he was hesitating, so she took the initiative. "I'd hate to see you miss out on your own supper. If you had enough sent for the both of us, we could eat before you go meet the prince."

He smiled broadly as he took her bag from her and threw it over his shoulder with his own, then offered her his right arm. "I think I would like that." It was a start, and perfectly innocent. As much as he ached for her, he found himself wanting to take his time. If he had to wait until they were married, so be it. And there it was. At that moment, he knew he would make her his bride.


	10. The Way Home

Chapter 10 The Way Home

Usual disclaimer: The characters in this story are not mine and are owned by EA/Bioware. However, I feel no shame in taking their Cousland noble Warden and his dog as my own.

Nigel and Iolanthe made small talk as they walked back to the castle, his guards behind them, close by in case of danger but politely out of earshot, and Buddy on her other side. Or rather, he made small talk most of the way, while she responded with murmurs and nods, still stunned by the day's events. The nods were only perceptible to him because of the movement of the pheasant feathers attached to a narrow band on her hat. She rested her slender gloved hand on his arm lightly, seeming to him she feared being close enough for him to grab her. He also thought she seemed to be looking around as if seeking an opportunity to escape. But with him to her left, Buddy to her right, and guards behind, straight ahead was the only way to go. She looked like she could give armored guards the slip, and even him, but he hoped she wasn't panicked enough to try to outrun a mabari charge.

The wind began picking up, the first sign of the storm the red clouds had foretold this morning. As much as he wanted to find out what had really happened, her mood was understandable. Therefore, he avoided questioning her about the unusual circumstances of Ser Anton's death. Instead he tried to distract her until she let down her guard by sharing anecdotes about his time in Orlais, and particularly in Val Royeaux, talking in soothing tones to the beautiful dark-haired elf. He hesitated for a moment, then offered her a small flask of brandy that he withdrew from his belt pouch. "Here, this will take the edge off."

She sniffed the contents, and then took a sip, shivering at both the sweet citrus taste that told her it was Antivan, and the burn, and took another sip before handing it back. By the time they neared the palace, he had gotten her to tell him about her mother and older sister, and their little shop where they made masks and hats, which she told him she had sent them the money to start. "Certainly not on an elven maid's salary, not even the salary of the personal maid of a noblewoman," he thought, confirming his suspicions that this woman's duties involved more than cleaning her lady's chambers and tending to her wardrobe.

He turned a broad grin at her and said, playing the fop, "What a fortuitous coincidence! I shall need to purchase some masks and hats when I arrive, so that I don't look so completely out of place in court. You know, something to make me look like less of a Fereldan bumpkin. Did they make your fabulous hat, or did you make it yourself? It's adorable!" He smiled at the proud smile this provoked, despite her anxious state.

She indeed momentarily forgot her distress, and turned her head so he could see it better. "Yes, Your Highness. This is my mother's own design."

He widened his eyes, "Oh my! She's very talented, and if I may say, you make a perfect model! You must do me a great favor and give me the address of their shop!" He smiled disarmingly, but he was sincere in his praise of the craftsmanship shown in her hat, and in his request. At the same time, he thought he might check in on them while he was in Orlais, being concerned for them in the event that Iolanthe was blamed for Anton's death. He had enough understanding of Orlesian law that he could see her mother and sister being thrown into the street after their shop was seized to compensate Anton's family, even though they were completely blameless.

She couldn't help but smile at the prince's self-depreciating, but accurate description of how he would be perceived in the Empress's court. To present oneself without wearing a mask would be nearly the same as walking in naked, and being seen in the same one too often would be considered gauche. She didn't tell him that a popular slang term for 'gauche' in Orlais was 'fereldan.' Yet she couldn't resist being a bit condescending in her reply, because he was rather fereldan. "Of course, your Highness, you are wise to wish to do whatever you can to fit in. You will be taken more seriously that way." She gave him the address and directions, already making mental calculations about how much his purchases would bring to her family.

He repeated the address. "I know that street, or I used to. There was a barber there above a shop that sold meat pies. Oh and Maker, the shoe shops! I loved the shoes! That is a good location from what I remember of it." He cocked his head and looked thoughtful. "It's rather odd that your mistress didn't mention their shop to me last night, however. She highly recommended a Messere Worth's, a Madame Tolliver's, but not your family's shop. She must not be aware your family has one, perhaps?"

His poison arrow struck home. He could tell from the way a red blaze instantly flushed her cheeks and by a brief flash of anger in her lovely emerald eyes that was not the case. He suspected as soon as she mentioned it that the ambassador had deliberately omitted their shop because of who owned it, having made clear during their talk the night before her opinion of elves who got above their place. He repeated back other three names that the ambassador had given him to twist the arrow. "Well, I'm sure it was an oversight, which I promise to remedy." He offered the flask again and smiled his disarming smile, using this obvious slight as a way to driving a wedge between Iolanthe and her employer.

He looked up at the sky as they reached the palace. "Just in time, that sky promises a downpour within an hour."

As they passed through the inner gates, he asked her whether she was born in Val Royeaux, and she tensed, her face momentarily becoming an angry, dark scowl, and she replied through gritted teeth, "No, Jader." Why did he have to ask that? It was suddenly all she could do to keep from breaking into tears, as just saying that name evoked painful memories that normally she could endure, but not today. Why didn't she just lie? It was all too much to bear.

He motioned his guards to halt, then led her to a covered bench inside a small courtyard. He could tell she wasn't feigning her distress to elicit sympathy. It wasn't difficult for Nigel to infer that something terrible had happened to her in Jader. He handed her a silk handkerchief and his brandy flask again, and implored her, "Please, tell me what is wrong. I want to know."

She took both, and took a generous sip of the brandy. Iolanthe didn't know why she should trust this shem prince, yet she found she couldn't stop the flow of words that poured out of her. It was like he had tossed a rock which had broken the ground where it landed, and a spring just below the surface had burst forth. She took another drink for courage and told him her story―her father had been killed in an accident in a factory when she was a girl. Her mother and older sister after that toiled away long hours for one of the city's most exclusive tailors. She told Nigel she had tried that too when she was old enough, but she didn't have their skill with a needle, and so had resigned herself to factory work.

But a few weeks after her fourteenth birthday, a human woman named Yvette, who supervised some of the cleaning staff at one of the local lord's estate, approached them on their way home and remarked on her prettiness, despite a coating of factory grime. Too pretty for a factory, she had added. Yvette had told her mother she could get her on as an upstairs maid, if they would sign a contract for three years of service. The promised pay was more than the factory paid, for much easier work, and she also would be given something suitable to wear, two meals a day, and her own bed in the servants' quarters. Yvette had even promised her one day off a month to visit her family. She dabbed at her eyes and met Nigel's. "How could I have said no to that?"

She told Nigel that when her mother had brought up rumors of the man's harsh treatment of his servants, Yvette dismissed them as spiteful gossip, and added that he and his wife were usually away for the better part of the year, either at their country estate or in Val Royeaux. So after a brief, tearful farewell, she and her mother made their marks on Yvette's contract, and she followed the woman to her new life.

She looked down at the ground and stirred pebbles with the toe of her boot. "Unfortunately, the rumors about him were all too true, and I came to realize that Yvette's job, besides supervising the third floor staff, was to procure girls for him."

Nigel listened, and replied with disgust, "By the Maker, I am sorry that this world can be such a wicked place. I swear, he, and men like that deserve everything bad that will come their way."

She wiped away her tears and continued, "I didn't discover this for many months, as he and his family had spent the spring and summer away in the country. The work itself was easy enough, and even boring with no one there to serve. I had time to learn to read enough to follow written instructions should I have to." She took another drink of brandy before she continued. She closed her eyes, almost coughing at the burning it caused in her throat, but taking strength from the warm sensation that spread from her head to her toes.

"One morning, the head housekeeper, she informed us that the masters were returning. We were so busy for the next few days, making everything perfect to please them so that no one got punished, no? We were expected to line up outside to greet them. When they arrived, Madame, she brushed past us, leaving only a cloud of sickening perfume in her wake, as if we were statues along the fence, and she couldn't be bothered to acknowledge us. But Messere walked down the line without a word, nodding at each one of us as we bowed or curtseyed.

She sobbed, but ignored his whispered "You don't have to go on." But she must. She hadn't been able to tell her mother or sister her shame. This shem was the only one she had ever told this to besides Madame Laverna, and thinking back, from the nature of her questions at the time, while sympathetic, Madame didn't seem like she had been concerned about much else besides gaining useful information about her former master and his close associates that Iolanthe knew she could barter to others later.

She looked up at the prince's face, trying to read the emotions there, as she had been taught, and read only concern. "The next morning, I was sent to one of the distant guest rooms to clean the mud off his favorite hunting boots. I hadn't expected he would be there, wearing them...he watched me work silently, and when I had finished, he grabbed my wrist and forced me to the floor. I managed to scream once...if anyone heard me, no one came to investigate, but for days after some would not meet my eyes. Yvette came there after he finished with me, with a blanket and salve for my bruises, and said she heard that I must have fallen down the stairs. I said nothing about what he had done to me, I was crying too hard. She scolded me for being clumsy as she removed my torn dress and helped me to my bed. But the next morning she came to me, and made me drink a bitter tea then gave me a gift of a new dress from the master, as a reward for doing such a good job..." She sobbed and buried her face in her hands.

Nigel was being careful not to touch her, but he tried to comfort her anyway as he spat, "The sick bastard! I am truly sorry, Iolanthe. Maker willing, he will get what's coming to him." It reminded him of what he had learned about the former Arl of Denerim's son Vaughn and his friends raping the women of the Alienage with impunity because who would have believed an elf, even the hathran, against the word of the future arl? He regretted that he didn't slit his throat when he and Zev freed him from Howe's dungeon, but he needed his voice in the Landsmeet. Perhaps this was the Maker's hand, showing him another monster. As Zev used to say, 'Some people need assassinating.' He offered a brief prayer of thanks.

He his attention turned back to Iolanthe, knowing the rest of her story. "And you were trapped there, because that contract bound you. That would be the only reason to compel household servants to sign one."

She turned her large emerald eyes up meet his. He understood too well. "I threw his gift on the floor and tried to leave, though I could hardly walk, but Yvette blocked my way and reminded me of that damned contract. She said my mother would have been responsible for reimbursing him for my lost service! Impossible! Either I stayed, or we all would be sent to debtors' prison. So I had no choice, but I learned how to hide to avoid that bastard. Most of the time I was successful, unless he ordered Yvette to send me to him. When the contract finally expired, he and his wife had just left for Val Royeaux for the tournament season, and so I stayed on. I warned new girls whenever I could, and I stayed even after they returned. Ridiculous, no? But by then I think I had become accustomed to my life, not believing I deserved anything better, believing it was all my fault as he would say, until that day that Madame Laverna came to entertain..."

She gasped, realizing that she had almost told him too much about Laverna and how she came to be in her service. Yet she could read his concern in his storm gray eyes, as well as a deadly anger now that he didn't care to hide. She shivered. She knew that look; this was a man who could kill with little remorse. Yet he did care. So though that caused a twinge of guilt about playing on his sympathy, she did it anyway and confessed her biggest fear. "If I should be sent back to explain the circumstances of Anton's death, I will be sent to Jader, where Anton's mother lives."

"I see. And if your former master heard about it, recognized you, and was feeling vengeful, he could accuse you of anything he wanted. Please don't think that _I'm_ accusing you of anything, but I surely wouldn't blame you if you had...gotten whatever revenge you could when Madame Laverna _hired_ you away. At the same time, if _she_ had done anything while entertaining at his estate, he could put the blame on you for helping her, and I don't believe she would be at your side to take the blame in that case." Though it was still too common a practice in Ferelden to give elven servants the switch for the most minor infractions, Nigel had seen first hand how much worse it was for elves in Orlais, where an elf could be thrown into prison, and even be hanged based on an accusation by a noble human, whether there was real proof of a crime or not.

"Your people have been treated horribly by mine. It's little wonder that you don't try to avenge the wrongs we've done you any chance you get." He told her of a time when he and some fellow students had traveled through the Alienage in Val Royeaux to a seedy tavern, in search of misadventure, a beautiful elven bard reputed to have a voice like a lover's caress, and illegal intoxicants. He told her that night they strolled past rows of ramshackle tenements that rose so impossibly high they surely blocked out the sun in the daytime hours. He had watched his surroundings nervously, seemingly the only one aware that five young, well-dressed shems made tempting targets for an attack of opportunity.

"One of my Orlesian companions laughed at me, told me to relax, and said loudly that if any of the knife-ears so much as looked at us the wrong way, his father would deal with the lot of them, and he waved his hand around to indicate the entire street." He shook his head. "_The lot of them_, whether they had done anything or not. I swear, I could feel the hate at his words that streamed from the shadows and shuttered windows, and I know heard muttered threats as we passed, though none of my other companions seemed to be aware. By the time we reached the tavern, I was too on edge to participate in the promised debauchery, though I could still appreciate the bard's voice."

It was difficult to maintain his foppish act thinking back on those days, and this young woman's story. Surely that was why so many elves who could turned their backs on the Maker and Andraste's true teachings and struck out into the wilds to find the Dalish. No wonder either that many who had no choice but to stay tried to get payback from the shemlen in any way they could. He grew silent, thinking about the son he had seen briefly this evening, for the first time in weeks, that he hadn't officially acknowledged.

She seemed to read his mind, and she flushed again as she heard herself reply tersely, "A noble sentiment. Yet Madame has heard...there are rumors of you getting a child on one of your elven housemaids." She couldn't believe the words that came out of her until they were out. She hastily set down the brandy, thinking she must have drunk more than she realized. What had she done? Madame would have slapped her silly for laying out all her cards at once like that.

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Indeed, and it's true. You no doubt think me a hypocrite. Before you judge me, let me tell you about my one and only affair with a member of our household staff. My first love was called Darlea. I met her one day when I dropped by the kitchen hoping for a treat from my old nanny, who had been promoted to head of household. I thought Darlea was the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen, not that I had seen many. Looking back now with the experience of age, I can't fault her for taking advantage of an eager young pup who was obviously smitten with her by the way I seemed to find excuses for hanging around her. It was easy for Darlea to persuade me to follow her into one of the pantries, where in all of five minutes she seduced me out of my virginity, and it required no effort at all to persuade me to meet her when she finished work, in a storeroom near the servants' quarters."

Iolanthe scoffed. "So you say, but in reality, what chance did she have to deny your advances?"

He thought he should be angry at the accusation, but he found himself surprisingly calm as he took another drink. "You think I'm making too harsh a judgment? My dear, she admitted this to me when I found her in Denerim years later. She suggested it, not I. She also insisted we must keep our relationship quiet, while foolish boy that I was, I would have happily stepped out into Highever with her on my arm. It was not a casual tryst for me."

Iolanthe gave him a skeptical look as she took back the flask, and repeated, "So you say. Next you will tell me she deliberately got pregnant to trap you, no?" Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a small voice was warning her about this conversation, but she ignored it. She wanted to hear this shem justify himself.

He leaned back, remembering those days. "No. We both foolishly ignored the consequences. She hadn't thought beyond how much of my generous allowance she could get out of me before I inevitably grew tired of her. I was too callow to think of anything beyond the next time I could be with her. And then one day, she was gone without a word. My Nan told me she had quit, just like that. I was devastated and searched throughout Highever trying to find her, but no one knew anything. I began drowning my sorrows in the taverns. Within a month my father told me they had decided to send me to the university earlier than they had planned, for a change of scenery. Once I settled in, one of my new friends suggested plenty of drink and women as a remedy for a broken heart, and I took his advice, to the detriment of my scholarly career and my family's shame."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Someone found out about your affair and got rid of her. Could you have even let it slip without being aware of it? Bragging to a friend, perhaps? And she was left to fend for herself in life, alone with your child, while you continued on your merry way with no repercussions." While Iolanthe resented his attempt to place the blame on his elven lover, she couldn't forget that a few of the new girls she had warned so they could avoid their master had instead sought out his perverted attention for what they could extract from him. A minute later, to her shock, she realized she had said that aloud!

"Understandable, when they have nothing, and perhaps weren't as innocent of men as you were." He sighed, having expected her disbelief, and knowing how implausible his story sounded. He knew perfectly well why he wanted to justify himself, or bare his secrets to this stranger even if she didn't.

"I went on with my life, and eventually learned the difference between true love and puppy love, but I never forgot her. Years later when I stumbled upon her, literally, here in Denerim, she told me Nan had learned of our tryst from one of the other _elven_ servants and reported it to my mother, who confronted Darlea, only because of my age. If I had been a few years older, I'm sure her only concern would have been that I didn't get too attached. Darlea said Mother gave her her pay, and told her to get her things and get out, so she revealed her condition. She told me she had decided by then to break it off anyway, having grown tired of me first. If Mother hadn't intervened, Darlea said she was about to tell me, hoping she read me well enough to know I would give her money to go away."

"You make your lover sound heartless. Are you being fair to her, or are you letting bitterness color your memories?" Iolanthe knew she had definitely had too much to drink of the strong brandy, and she hoped it would wear off before she had to face Laverna.

He shook his head. "Do I? Not at all, she wasn't heartless, nor even calculating, but certainly opportunistic. She left for Denerim, which was her choice, in a coach hired by my mother, with more than enough gold to allow her to keep her child and start a new life. She told me that Mother had dropped in on them whenever she was in Denerim to see how her other grandson fared. I told Darlea that if I had known, I would have insisted on marrying her when I came of age the next year."

He looked up at her disbelieving snort. "Well, I was still young, and suffering from the foolish romanticism of youth. She patted my cheek and pointed out that as the son of the teyrn, I would have had to renounce my inheritance to marry an elf, and then what? We live on a farmstead somewhere, scraping by on handouts from my family, and me with no skills to speak of other than a knack for lock-picking? She said, probably correctly, that we would have grown to hate each other within a year. She would have refused my proposal for my own good, as well as theirs."

"And so you really never knew about your child?" Iolanthe still wasn't sure she believed all of his story, but she now believed he believed it. She handed the flask to him, because he looked like he could use a drink.

Nigel pushed back his long pale hair, which had come loose in his race through the city and was being blown about by the wind. "No. I don't know whether my parents would have told me about Dahven if they had lived. For that matter, I don't know if my father even knew. My brother Fergus didn't, or if he had, he is a damned good liar. After their murder, the payments had stopped, but her shop outside of the Alienage provided them enough to get by on. She was dismayed to learn that I was a wanted fugitive and in no position to help them, but I gave her everything I could, and gave her the names of some merchant contacts I had made in Orzammar. I have quietly continued to support my son since coming to the throne, and have visited with him when I could spare a few minutes here and there. And yet he's never met my wife, and his three sisters don't know they have an older brother, and we are acquaintances at best."

"Indeed, it must be hard to sneak away from your duties." A drop of rain hit her forehead. She stood and looked down at him, feeling sleepy now from the brandy and wanting to get her interrogation from Madame Laverna over with so she could go to bed. She was surprised to discover she was growing sympathetic, not with him so much as with the boy. "You have not formally acknowledged him, but that is for the best. Otherwise, whatever he accomplishes in his life, some will be thinking is due only to his father."

Nigel swirled the remains of the bandy in the flask, then slipped it back in his pouch and stood beside her. "That used to be my thinking as well, but lately I'm not sure." He wasn't ready to have this conversation either, even with a disinterested party. It reminded him all too well that Anora would have to give her approval. He motioned towards the door. "Anyway, let's get inside before the rain starts in earnest. Are you ready to face the dragon? She drank quite a bit last night, and I suspect she's wickedly hung over, so let me do the talking."

Iolanthe put her hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened in feigned shock at his referring to her employer in that manner, but she chuckled. "I would not be surprised if word has already reached her through castle gossip, which is like meat to her, assuming she was out of bed today. I will have to tell her you were a beast and kept interrogating me...about shoe shops, and then after hearing what happened, I am sure she will want to spend the evening writing letters to Anton's family and...to others, and deciding whether she should deliver them herself or send them through a courier. "

Iolanthe sighed. "She will be angry that she was put in this position." She closed her eyes and looked ill, and he leaned close to catch her if she fainted. Buddy leaned in on her other side and brushed her hand with the top of his head.

Nigel frowned. She had drunk more than he expected, but not enough to make her pass out. Then again, she was tiny compared to him, and she probably didn't drink strong brandy regularly either, even without his additions. Zev was much better at estimating doses. He said softly, "Angry with you? Not to worry, I've slain dragons before."

As his words sunk in, she paled, thinking she must make sure her family got a letter and the money she had saved, if things went badly for her. She said frantically, I need to write a note to my mother telling her...Perhaps you could take my mother a parcel from me when you visit their shop? I send them much of my pay, but when we are away from Val Royeaux, it sometimes does not reach them. Some couriers don't care about stealing from elves."

He squeezed her hand. "I'll take it by their shop as soon as we arrive, right after I drop off my things at the Grey Warden outpost. I'll let Buddy carry it to the door in his mouth. That will be amusing, no?Perhaps I can even persuade them to move here to join you, if you find that you are unable to return to Orlais anytime soon. But if you _must_, I'll tell the ambassador that you and she can travel on my ship, and I'll go with you to deliver the tragic news to Ser Anton's mother."

His implication was clear, and she was painfully aware of her situation. She already knew in her heart that she wasn't so valuable to Madame Laverna that she would stand up for an elf in a court of inquiry. Therefore, she would be on her own. In that case, it would be better to go to ground, as he seemed to be suggesting...but she would be hunted, and alone in a strange land. Would her mother believe him, even if he came bearing her letter? Could he convince her to leave? She craned her neck to look up at him, and he smiled down kindly. It all became clear. Better yet, she could forge a new alliance, based on Madame's reaction. If Madame was loyal to her, she would repay her in kind. On the other hand, if she was to be thrown to the wolves, there was much that she knew that the prince would like to hear on that ship to Orlais.

Though still feeling she was walking through a cloud because of the drink, it occurred to her that he could be playing the Game as well as an Orlesian. Was that even possible? That would mean that he suspected what Madame Laverna and her associates planned, and she would be valuable to him as an ally. Could she betray Madame? But how could she not?

Nigel studied the emotions playing across her face. He got to know ambassador last night well enough that he was certain she would cast this woman aside to save herself, even if all she was saving herself from was political embarrassment. She would promise her to write letters explaining Anton's death as an unfortunate accident, to which this woman was unfortunate to be the only witness, but he was certain Laverna would stay safely here in Ferelden until it had blown over. If he was right, and if he had read Iolanthe right, he would approach her again the night before their ship landed, when she had had ample time to dwell on her fate. "If she doesn't accompany you, I have an old friend in the Chantry who serves the Grand Cleric I'll introduce you to. I'm sure she can help you too."

He was glad he had the flask with him. He had planned to give it to Teagan for liquid courage, hoping the drug would allow him to overcome his shyness and speak his heart, and give him a nudge towards the fair Bella's bed. Instead, this poor woman was going to have a headache in the morning. He felt like he needed to visit one of his understanding favorites at the Pearl tonight for a well-deserved session with the lash, if he hadn't agreed to spend the evening teaching Anora the highlights of using poisons. It was a pity, because after what this woman had gone through, he felt like he had abused her as much as her former employer had, and he deserved the lash. But her former employer and this Yvette deserved far worse. If he had time, he would drop by the market and arrange for a little bird to visit them.


	11. More than Adequate

Chapter 11 More than Adequate

Usual disclaimer: The characters in this chapter do not belong to me, but rather to Bioware, EA, and others. The source information on the Fereldan uprising was taken from _The Stolen Throne_, by David Gaider, and the background information on Teagan's childhood was taken from the _Dragon Age_ Wikia.

Teagan Guerrin, Arl of Redcliffe, and Bella, the mayor of Redcliffe village, were the picture of decorum as he escorted her into his Denerim estate, past the household staff, who exchanged knowing glances and nods after they passed. Neither of them had spoken much along the way partly because their minds were on the death of the Orlesian. But Bella was also afraid she might say the wrong thing, and he would be reminded of her common birth, and Teagan was afraid that he would say the wrong thing and make himself appear arrogant or foolish.

Once they reached her chamber, Teagan bowed politely and handed Bella her pack. He hoped she didn't notice the beads of sweat that erupted on his forehead as their fingers brushed when she took it. But she smiled her sweet smile, a smile that made him feel weak in the knees. He flushed, feeling his lips stretching until he was grinning back at her like a love-struck boy, and not a man nearing middle age. With a kiss to her hand and a parting promise of "I'll be counting the moments until we meet again," Teagan turned and strolled off towards his chambers, casually, in case she was watching him.

As he reached the corner, however, he couldn't resist glancing back at her, hoping she was watching him. She was indeed, and rewarded him with an embarrassed blush and another sweet smile as their eyes met. It occurred to him how brilliant her eyes were, and how perfectly shaped her full lips were, and he longed to run back to kiss them. He stepped around the corner and leaned against the wall, murmuring her name, then flushed scarlet and looked around. Relieved to see that no one had heard him, he made haste to his own chambers to wash off the smell of horse and sweat, and to change.

Bella closed the door once he was out of sight. Leaning against it, she shut her eyes and let out a loud sigh of relief, though she missed him already. As comfortable as she had become with all manner of people after years of serving the public in the tavern, and as much as she had felt comfortable conversing with the arl on a number of subjects, lately he had made her feel nervous as well.

She opened her eyes and saw the steaming bath waiting for her, though she felt guilty, knowing the amount of work required of the servants, to haul in the hot water and tub. Opening her coin pouch, she set a proper tip for them on a table near the fire, and then added a bit more. That done, she wasted no time in stripping off the breeches, tunic, quilted doublet, and boots she had worn to the hunt, folding them neatly so the maid who collected them to launder wouldn't think her lazy or careless.

But before she allowed herself to indulge in the bath, she opened the doors to the wardrobe, then swore under her breath as she regarded the gowns she had brought with her with a critical eye. She had packed practical traveling clothing, such as what she had worn to the hunt this morning, and had only bought the formal gown she had worn to the royal ball once she had arrived, at his housekeeper's suggestion, as she had helped her unpack. She looked over the two gowns that she had brought with her. It wasn't like she had many more, and these were brought to wear here because they were the best of the lot. They were more than fine for Redcliffe, and when she set out she hadn't particularly cared if they were up to the standards of Denerim, and still didn't. But for a private supper with the arl? "Oh, Andraste's smoking knickers!," she muttered as she tried to decide on one.

The trade delegation had only planned to be in Denerim for a week, and while the rest had purchased enough clothing and other items to fill a wagon, Bella was far too practical to spend her hard-earned coin on clothing that would be relegated to the closet, too fancy for everyday wear back home. She had already been thinking that she could have the ball gown remade by a seamstress into at least two more practical garments, and she thought there might be enough fabric left over to make a curtain for her bedroom window.

For a moment she considered just slipping on her nightgown and a robe, but dismissed the idea as she held it up. She hadn't noticed until now that the linen had become grayed with age. She needed to soak it in lemon juice and water then hang it in the sun to bleach when she got home, though it was wearing thin, and really should be cast into the rag box soon. Maybe it wouldn't be so noticeable by candlelight though. She frowned as she held it up. The gown was also quite plain, with just a bit of narrow lace at the neck and trimming the sleeves. It was good enough for sleeping in alone, but not something she would want a lover to see her in for the first time, not that one had in years. Had she really had this nightgown for that long? Maker, had it been that long since she broke it off with Stefan?

Though strangers and newcomers to Redcliffe often assumed, based on her occupation, that smiles and flattering words would be all it took to charm their way into free drinks first and then into her bed, Bella wasted no time in dashing cold water on their hopes, sometimes literally. It had become something of a spectator sport in her tavern, waiting to see how long her patience lasted before her sharp tongue lashed out, or worse. She had decided back when Lloyd hired her and she had to put him in his place immediately, that everyone would know her body wasn't on the menu, and that no one would be invited home with her unless he cared enough to spend time with her somewhere other than in bed. Then once she and the prince became the owners, she took even more care that she be seen as respectable, as much for her royal partner's sake as her own.

It wasn't that she hadn't had lovers, though she thanked the Maker not so many that they could fill a wagon, like she overheard her barmaids whispering about another, with a growing belly and no idea who was the father. Bella had only had two lovers since the Blight, Stefan, and Caerdwyll before him, though during their time together, she hadn't allowed either of them to move into her little flat behind the tavern, saving that, if not herself, for marriage. She was up early and worked into the night most of the time despite having hired two new barmaids and two war widows with children to support, as part time cooks. So their courting of her by necessity had taken place either in the tavern, or out on the lake shore, where her idle time was spent casting her line or her net at her da's old fishing spot. Being on the water was one thing she always found relaxing, whether she caught anything or not.

Both had informed her after a semi-domestic period that they expected her to quit working in her tavern if they were married. Caerdwyll had assumed that he would take her place behind the bar, though he allowed she could still work in the back, keeping the books, and brewing the ale, acknowledging her skill at both. Stefan hadn't even thought she should do that much, having expressed his opinion that it wasn't respectable, and besides, he thought she would be too busy raising his children. Both times they had helped her decide that she liked the freedom that being her own woman gave her more than she liked the idea of being the wife of either, even if the trade-off was sleeping alone, with only Lloyd's grumpy old ginger cat for company. So she cut them loose to find a woman who was more accommodating to their desires. It was like fishing in Lake Callenhad. If you hauled in one that was too small, you threw it back to give it time to grow up and cast your net or line again for a bigger fish.

Not that she saw Teagan as that big fish, and blushed at the very thought! For the first time, it occurred to her that was exactly what people would think...but that was even assuming...but that wasn't the case at all! She hadn't thought of him as a potential lover at all in the years since he became the Arl of Redcliffe. Before that, she hadn't really known him except as a handsome visitor who would drop by the tavern with his escort when he was in town visiting his brother. He was well-mannered but very reserved. He had always left a generous tip and bought a round of drinks for the house before they left though, taking time to apologize to her or the other barmaid for the extra work.

Then Teagan had impressed everyone in Redcliffe by the way he took command during the crisis of the undead plague, and returned to help his brother with the rebuilding after the battle of Denerim, since so many able-bodied citizens had been killed. After the crown installed Teagan as the new arl, and then she was elected mayor, Bella got to know him better during regular meetings over the status of the village. At first he still seemed aloof, but it quickly dawned on her he was just shy. She soon discovered he had a sly humor she appreciated, and so encouraged whenever she could. In turn, he relaxed around her, and before long became a friend and confidant. Why someone who seemed to have everything―looks, money, and fame―could be so shy was a mystery to her, but she wasn't the sort to pry.

They recently spent a few hours fly fishing together; when he had been out walking along the cliffs and stumbled upon her spot, she had invited him to stay and share her simple lunch. He shared his more ample lunch and a bottle of wine, and they ended up talking for hours about subjects completely unrelated to the needs of the village. She approved of the way he tied his lures (and more, that he even knew how), and of the strength of his cast. He had flushed and replied that the same muscles developed in sword training could be put to better use, and she agreed, though it wasn't until later, alone in her bed thinking about their day, that it occurred to her what a fine form his martial training had given him.

There had been more time spent together during the journey to Denerim. Like most of the villagers, Bella had no reason to own horse, so she accepted his offer to travel inside his coach along with other members of the trade delegation. But the others had made different travel arrangements, even her friend Zerlinda, the young dwarven woman that Prince had recruited in Orzammar to take over Redcliffe's general store. The young dwarf had thoroughly adapted to surface life after getting over her initial fear of 'all that sky,' and she had explained to Bella that she and her young son would rather see the fresh spring green of the countryside and feel the crisp air, and even the rain, than be cooped up in the coach. She and the other members of the delegation elected to ride alongside the drivers of the wagons that accompanied them, or on top of the arl's coach, sitting with his coachmen.

It was strange though, almost as if...she smacked her forehead as it dawned on her that her neighbors had conspired to throw the two of them together. "Maker's breath! Of course they did!" It got her thinking about the many recent emergencies that had required a visit by her up to the castle or brought him down to the village, few of which turned out to be emergencies at all. Her initial annoyance at their sticking their noses in her business was mollified by her acknowledgment that they only did so because they thought they were acting in her, and the arl's, best interest. It showed how much they cared.

But was it what she wanted, honestly? Why did she even have to think about that? He was what she considered a good friend. Lately too she had been awakened from dreams involving a night of passion with him. The first time she was too embarrassed to look into his eyes when they next met, and she had been forced to make up a lie when he asked her what was wrong.

But she was wasting time. She turned away from the closet and eased herself into the tub before it got cold. She sighed again, this time in relief as she slipped in to her chin and the warm water began to soothe the aches from her body. She washed, then closed her eyes for only a moment but immediately drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

It seemed like it had only been a moment when Bella was startled by the sound of a woman loudly clearing her throat. Her eyes popped open, and she sat up, and covered herself with her arms. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Gallagher, was standing near the tub. She was a small, straight-backed, elderly woman, whose iron-gray hair was always bound in a tight, no-nonsense bun on top of her head. With her were two young elven women, one holding a covered tray, and the other setting the table near the fire. Bella was shocked that she had been sleeping so soundly she hadn't even heard them come in!

Mrs. Gallagher stood with her hands folded primly in front of her as she spoke. "His Excellency sent me to tell you he will be arriving shortly. I came to help you dress." In fact, the arl had sent his housekeeper to see if Bella was ready to receive him, anxious that he not intrude upon her. She looked over her shoulder at the elves, not wanting to give them more gossip about. "If you two have finished, you may leave." The elves curtsied to her and hurried to finish setting up the table, one stopping to scoop the tip Bella had left and happily showing it to the other. As soon as they closed the door, she walked over and held up a towel for her.

"Thank you." Bella eased herself out of the tub, and looked away until she had wrapped herself in the towel. Bella glanced at the window. "Maker's breath, how long was I sleeping?"

"Not too long, my dear. However, His Excellency will be arriving presently. Let's get you dressed, shall we? There's no time for your hair, but I can pin it up if you like." She walked briskly to the wardrobe and tsked under her breath, muttering "Well, they are good enough for Redcliffe," then took out the sky blue gown that matched the doublet her arl had chosen.

"Might I suggest this one? The color will bring out your eyes." She turned back towards Bella. He was right, Bella did have brilliant eyes. She thought her pretty, and also thought that she could be a real beauty if she took the time to be. The fact that she didn't, and didn't appear to be trying to seduce her lord, told her much about Bella, and Mrs. Gallagher approved.

As soon as she turned her back, Bella pulled on her small clothes and a clean chemise, noting that those needed to be replaced too. She ran her fingers though her thick strawberry blond hair, which hung damp to her shoulders. She rarely gave it much thought, other than chopping it off when it got too long and heavy, or tying it up in a cloth to keep it out of her way when she was in the cellar brewing ale or cleaning the tavern. Men praised the color and the way it softly curled, but she thought most men were silly at most times. It was what it was. She would snort and mutter that if she shaved it all off, they would praise the roundness of her head and the shape of her earlobes, and the silly men agreed. Most men were silly, but not him. There was nothing silly about him.

"I was going to dry it in front of the fire before I go to sleep." She added, as if she felt she needed to explain, "It's too warm to wear a nightcap, but I hate going to sleep with a wet head."

She nodded. "Perfectly understandable, my dear. You don't want to catch cold. Let me comb it out for you then." Mrs. Gallagher knew enough about women to know that some would want to wear their hair down as an invitation for him to touch it, but Bella didn't seem that calculating. She held up the dress so Bella could slip it over her head, though it laced in front, so she really didn't need her help dressing. Nevertheless, she had her arl's orders, and she understood the unspoken reason behind his request—he desperately wanted her opinion of this young woman, though she could see in his eyes he had already made up his mind. This was more of a confirmation.

From what she had learned, Bella didn't appear to be after his money and title. She had money enough, though she didn't spend it freely. She had a reputation in Redcliffe of being both hard working and frugal, but she also was known for having a soft spot for women left on their own with children to raise. She was certainly pretty enough to have had her choice of the available village men, yet though she was approaching spinsterhood, she wasn't desperate to land a husband. Mrs. Gallagher wasn't sure what to make of that. Perhaps like her lord, she had had a bad experience that had put her off marriage.

Looking at Bella's hair, she didn't think there was time enough do much other than comb it out before he arrived. She agreed with him that it was a fine color, and the dampness was bringing out the curl. "I'll help you wash it tomorrow."

"Are noblewomen that helpless?" Bella smiled at the old woman's hearty chuckle in response. To her that the thought of her even becoming one of them made her throat tight, and made her want to grab her things and run out the door while she still could escape. But she thought about his gentle eyes, bright smile, and hearty laugh. She turned to Mrs. Gallagher and held her arms out to the sides so she could lace the dress. "Please don't think me ungrateful. I appreciate your help."

Mrs. Gallagher smiled kindly. "That's why I'm here, my dear."

Bella sat down on a padded stool, and the older woman stepped up behind her with a comb. Making conversation, she asked, "Have you served the arl a long time?" Bella knew she had been brought over from his bann in Rainesfere because the previous head housekeeper, and her assistants, had been among the first killed when the undead attacks started.

She nodded as she parted Bella's hair. "My entire life has been spent in service to the Guerrins. I began serving at Castle Redcliffe before I was married, back before the war, when the country was filled with those bloody Orlesians. I remember like it was yesterday when the last of that lot was sent packing from Redcliffe. It was a sight. The lads lined up on the cliffs and along the path cursing them, while the women threw rotting fish. I was acquainted with your grandma. She was there with your ma."

Bella turned her head slightly so she could see her, and Mrs. Gallagher put her hands on either side of her jaw and turned it back, which reminded Bella of the way her mother used to comb her hair. "Aye? I never really knew my grandmas. But from the time I was a babe my ma and da used to tell us about that day the last Orlesians was finally tossed out, on the anniversary of that day."

Mrs. Gallagher chuckled loudly. "He was one of those lads shaking their fists and wagging their bare arses at the Orlesians, I wager."

Bella chuckled too. "Aye, I've heard that story. I didn't know you were from Redcliffe. I thought you came from Rainesfere." Like many who served in the castle, Mrs. Gallagher rarely came into the village, so seeing her on Bella's official visits to the castle was the only way she knew her at all.

"No, Redcliffe, born and raised." The old woman paused and sighed, looking up and remembering those days and the husband she had lost too soon. "My husband and I, Maker rest his soul, had left to join up with Queen Moira and Prince Maric's revolt, him servin' with the Redcliffe brigade beside Arl Teagan's father Arl Rendorn and the Lady Rowan, and me helpin' out in camp with the cooking, washing, and tendin' the wounded. I was there when the arl and so many others were killed at West Hill. My love lived though, and we decided that he survived so we could be married, and we were, as soon as we helped the others do what we could for the dead."

Bella turned her head again. "My uncle was near killed at West Hill too. He thought he only lived to tell the tale because he was surrounded by bodies, and the Orlesians didn't take the time to loot the dead and kill any still living, they was so intent on finding King Maric. He said the Maker protected him, and gave him and the other survivors strength to get back to Gwaren to tell the tale. So he joined the Chantry as a brother after the war."

Mrs. Gallagher smoothed a tangle. "Aye, I remember when my Tiernan and the rest of the survivors straggled in and brought that terrible news about the ambush. I wanted to scream, but there was too much work to be done. I might have helped patch your uncle up!" She added wistfully, "Teagan was a little boy then. We thought he and Eamon should know their father was gone to the Maker's side, and we also feared his sister had been taken captive by the Orlesians, because no one had found her or King Maric among the dead. No one knew the Maker had shown them an escape path into the Deep Roads."

Bella knew the story. "I've heard that with their ma gone, Teagan and Eamon had been sent to stay with their kin in the Free Marches when his father and sister joined the true queen."

Mrs. Gallagher nodded. "That's partially right, though Eamon was old enough that he didn't go willingly. You see, the old arl had gotten word from a friend that the lads was to be honored with an invitation to Mehgren's court to be squired there. It's also common in Orlais to invite family members to visit, and then hold them as a friendly hostage to keep the rest of their family in line, or else their family knows it's to the dungeon with 'em. That's what the old arl knew Mehgren was up to, so before the messenger arrived, he sent his boys away to safety, which left him free to join Queen Moira, since the arling was being overrun with Orlesians anyway."

Bella didn't try to hide her disdain. "I haven't met many Orlesians, but I haven't been impressed by the ones I have." Those had been travelers for the most part, and Stefan had been from Orlais too. One of the things that had really bothered her about him was that he seemed to think he knew more about everything, and was better than everyone else around him.

She thought about Teagan and tried to imagine being separated from her family as a child. She said wistfully, "It must have been very hard on Teagan...and his brother too, not knowing their big sister's fate, and not even able to see their father properly burned at the lake."

Mrs. Gallagher replied sadly, "Would that we could have seen our dead burned proper. We had to settle for a mass burning out on the battlefield, and even that much was done at risk of attack by the Orlesians. It wasn't for another three years that King Maric finally took Denerim. The first thing Lady Rowan did was to send for her brothers to come home in time for her wedding. Eamon was just old enough by then to take his father's place. After Teagan came of age, he was given Rainesfere by his brother." She dabbed her eyes and added proudly, "That was my and my late husband's big promotion, me to be put in charge of the house and staff, and him to get the grounds in order, but he told us if anyone could do it, we could."

A question nagged at Bella, like an obnoxious drunk in the tavern making rude faces at her, that Bella tried to ignore, but not for long. It was always better to deal with it directly. "Teagan has never married...I know some say it was because he had always been in love with Queen Anora, both before and after she was queen. He would fight in her honor at the tournaments."

Mrs. Gallagher paused from her work. "There's some truth to that, but she never hid the fact that she only considered him a friend. She knew she would become queen one day, even before Prince Cailan realized it." Mrs. Gallagher had wondered how much gossip about Teagan she had heard. But then the arl was popular with his subjects, as he had been in Rainesfere, and respect tended to cut down on gossip.

She wasn't sure how much she should bring up either. It was his business, and it happened so long ago. She was terribly fond of him, and in turn she was treated by her arl as if they were kin, but she still never forgot her place. Yet because she did care for him, she wanted him to be as happy as she and her husband had been. Could this woman be the one to give him that?

"There have been overtures over the years from not only Fereldan noble families, but from several in the Marches. The Bann of White Hills even brought a son on a visit, guessing that was the reason Teagan had never married." She shook out Bella's hair to bring out her curl. "Most don't remember that there was a girl when he was young, thankfully." Bella turned again to look at her. "That ended badly, and I think it left him...scarred and bitter for years."

Bella's breath caught for a moment before she recovered. "Oh." She wasn't sure how much more she wanted to hear. On the other hand her heart ached hearing of an injury to him, even if it was years ago.

Mrs. Gallagher nodded. "She belonged to a family they had known from Starkhaven."

Bella cursed herself for her bluntness as she replied, "What happened? Did she die?" She had seen enough of tragedy in her life, even left over from the war before she was born, to understand how death could have affected him.

Mrs. Gallagher set the comb down and met her eyes. "Now this is between you and me. I'm not one to spread gossip about my arl. I have known him since he was born, and he's dear to me, like a favorite nephew, even if he is my arl." She sat on the chair beside Bella. "I'm only telling you because...from what I've observed, I suspect you are a good friend of his as well and will keep this to yourself."

Bella blushed deeply, which Mrs. Gallagher approved of. "I...he...I mean, yes, he has become a dear friend to me, and...yes, I would like very much to be more than his friend." There, she had said it.

Mrs. Gallagher patted her hand, knowing very well they hadn't gone beyond the friendship stage in their budding relationship. "Say no more, my dear. He was young, as I said. He and his brother used to go back to the Marches for the Grand Tourney. It happens every year and is quite the thing there, even though the tournament itself only lasts a day. The winner gains the title 'champion' and little else but the honor and acclaim. But there are bets won and lost, balls, feasts, and hunting for days before and after. It's an event where the gentry can see and be seen, and a good many matches are made there. Arl Eamon went to compete, and Teagan served as his squire. Their old friends were at the Grand Ball that night, and introduced a pretty relation, Giselle, whose family had come from Val Foret.

"Giselle...Orlesian?" Bella wondered aloud what it was about the Guerrin men that attracted them to Orlesian women.

Mrs. Gallagher had always wondered the same thing, when there were so many fine Fereldan women to choose from. "By birth, yes, but her family was in exile in the Marches after some scandal that had embarrassed them at court. Apparently the Marches are full of exiled Orlesians too because Nevarra won't have 'em."

She looked around before she continued, as if confirming they were alone. "Now mind you, this is based on what I saw and heard myself, and also what I heard from others. The girl and some of her kin and friends came to visit us after the lads returned home. A whole flock of them, as lazy and helpless a pack of lay-abouts you've never seen, eating the arl's food and drinking his wine, which of course was never good enough for their refined gullets. We had our work cut out for us tending to that lot for months!"

Bella scowled in disgust. "Ugh, I remember 'em when I was a small girl, poking around the village on their way to the Chantry in their feathers and silks and silly shoes, poking their noses into everyone's business and complainin' about the mud and the smells."

"That's right, and you probably recall we had a bigger pack invade when Arl Eamon married Isolde, though that lot didn't stay long, thank the Maker. At any rate, Teagan was quite taken with that Giselle woman, and she seemed to be interested in him too. They became close..."

Bella blushed again, and the old woman nodded and blushed herself to confirm what she had implied. She continued, "I was waiting after breakfast one morning until they had finished to send the elves in to clear, and overheard her telling him that another man, who had been rejected by her, had sought revenge by telling terrible lies about her and her family, trying to stir up more trouble so they could never go home, unless she paid him to go away. Teagan offered to marry her, and give her a new home. That was before he was formally given Rainesfere, but his brother had said it was his, so he knew they would have a place to live."

Bella felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, knowing where this was going. "She didn't accept his proposal, did she."

Mrs. Gallagher shook her head. "No, she told him he was very generous, and she would love to marry him, but the house in Rainesfere wasn't fit to be lived in yet, and anyway, she could not without the approval of her father, who she said was of a mind to send her to the Chantry to become a sister. She also said that she couldn't be married anyway until he paid off his debts. I suspected somethin' was up right then. But Teagan was so taken with her, that he offered her some of the money her father needed, and promised more as soon as he could get it. She accepted, and went home the next day to tell him the good news."

"But her father didn't give his approval, did he. How long did she make excuses?" Bella couldn't help herself from wanting to hear more, even though in the back of her mind she knew she should be ashamed of herself for digging into his past.

The old woman wrapped her arms around herself, as if chilled by telling the story. "She was gone for months, only returning when he had written that he had more money to lend her. She would send letters between visits promising her father was close to making a decision. How he longed for those! She led him around by the nose like that for over three years, poor lad. While he waited, he threw himself into restoring Rainsfere so he would have a proper home to offer her, learning from my Tiernan how to do much of the work himself since he could no longer afford as many workers. He also learned to plow his fields, got up on the roofs to mend broken tiles, and became quite a stonemason by the time his lands were prosperous enough that he could afford to hire more help."

Bella mused as she listened that the servants seemed to overhear quite a bit. The thought was unsettling, and it was something she would be mindful of. Yet she couldn't help herself from encouraging the old woman to go on even as she tried not to think of Teagan stripped to the waist, muscles straining while laying stone.

Mrs. Gallagher leaned closer. "One day Eamon sent a letter saying he had sprained his ankle, and suggesting Teagan go to the Grand Tourney to compete and represent the family, but also to surprise her there, rather than wait for her to come back to him. Teagan thought that was a splendid idea and began packing at once, and left that night so he would make it in time."

Bella held her chin in her hand as she thought about that. "Arl Eamon knew or suspected something was amiss is my guess."

She nodded. "That was always my thought too. Teagan took my husband along, serving as both squire and manservant. He won not only champion, but also the chivalry award. But they left the next morning, and he said hardly a word on the way back, only sending my Tiernan with a hastily written note to his brother when they got back to Ferelden. He stayed to his rooms when he wasn't out working on the stone wall around the manor, even taking his meals there, when he ate at all. He didn't want to talk even to me, so I reluctantly left him to work out his misery on the stone.

Bella knew what it was to use hard work as a palliative for pain and loss. "Something bad must have happened for him to leave so quickly. Did she finally reject him then?"

The old woman sighed. "It was far worse than that. Eamon arrived with Tiernan a few days later, despite his hurt ankle. I wasn't eavesdropping, mind you, but I was worried about him, and he was terribly upset, raising his voice at times."

"No, of course. Sometimes you can't help but overhear something you wish you hadn't."

Mrs. Gallagher nodded at the truth of that. "I heard Teagan tell him that he hadn't been able to find her. The night of the Grand Ball he had been taking the air on a balcony. He overheard two women talking below mention his name, and hers. One of the women had told the other that Giselle left as soon as she found out he was there, leaving her poor maid to pack her things and follow. They laughed about how close she came to being caught by his surprise appearance, and how she had said it was just as well, she had gotten as much out of the Fereldan bumpkin as she thought she could. She thought she was far too beautiful to settle for a minor Fereldan bann and a mere manor house when she could catch another with a better title and even a castle, and the two of them agreed. But the worst part was that Giselle had added insult to injury by calling him inadequate...in the bedroom."

"Poor Teagan! How humiliating!" Bella's heart ached for him. It didn't surprise her that Giselle was so ruthless, and she knew scheming women weren't limited to the gentry. "Hearing how that wench took advantage of his kindness and generous nature makes me want to find her and slap her silly, no matter how many years has passed!"

Mrs. Gallagher patted her hand. "You and me both, my dear. I had it in mind to find out where she was staying when we went with him to the next tourney, though I don't know what I would have done if I had found her. Spit in her food, perhaps, or give her a good hard slap if I got close enough. But she made a point of staying far away from The Marches after that, and within two years married some count from Jader old enough to be her grandfather. From what I heard from the other servants, my lord wasn't the only man she had trifled with."

Bella wrapped her arms around herself. "Poor Teagan. I hope her venom didn't spread and harm his reputation. I know what an evil poison gossip can be."

"Sadly, it did, for a while at least. But he ignored the gossip and laughter behind his back, held his head up, and returned the next year to defend his title. He won again, though he would have nothing to do with anyone who had been in her circle. Still, enough people had heard the story, that for years after one opportunist after another went after him, thinking him a fool, though most were careful to hide their true nature. I take pride in having saved him from more than one gold digger over the years, and also a few who were as nasty as harpies to the servants when he wasn't around. He has always said that he could judge a person's character by how he or she treated those beneath him, so I always served him best by letting him know what I had seen and heard when he wasn't present."

Bella nodded in understanding. "And what do you think of me?"

Mrs. Gallagher arched her eyebrow. This young woman was an open book, with nothing hidden in the back cover. She was outspoken, honest, and deserved an honest answer. "You're a bit rough around the edges, my dear, but nothing that can't be smoothed out with help. Besides, you're quite refreshing compared to most of the gentry I have had to deal with. What's more important, I think you can make each other happy. You have a sadness about you that others don't see, but I do."

She stood and smirked at Bella's dumbfounded expression. "Now I should be on my way, my lady. I've taken up enough of your time, and I don't doubt but that my arl has worn a rut in the hallway floor pacing, waiting for me to leave."

Bella clasped her hands as she stood and looked towards the door. "Is he really? Now he's making me nervous again!"

Mrs. Gallagher paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Does he? He told me he's rarely felt as relaxed with a woman as he is when he's with you. The only other one is the queen, so you're in good company." She curtsied and quickly slipped out the door, hoping the lavender and rose water she had sprinkled on her sheets wouldn't be too obvious, and she said a quick prayer that it would be appreciated by both of them.

Bella poured herself a goblet of wine. She gulped it half of it down, then refilled the goblet and filled his too, while she waited, wondering if he and Mrs. Gallagher were talking about her. As she was lifting the covers off the dishes on the table to see what had been brought, someone rapped on her chamber door. Her heart caught in her throat, and she froze momentarily, then dropped the lid she was holding. She swore under her breath and nearly ran to the door and opened it, too quickly, she thought, but it was done. There he was, in a shiny blue doublet that made his gray eyes look blue. He had taken the time to shave, and she stayed her hand from touching his smooth cheek.

Instead, she took a deep breath and opened the door wider. "Arl Teagan! Come in!" She felt foolish inviting him into a room in his own house, but he beamed at her as she stepped aside.

"Bella." He gazed at her, noting that she wore the blue dress that almost matched his doublet. What a pair they would make if they went out to _The Gnarled Noble_ tonight. He hoped they wouldn't though, and he tried not to think about untying the lacing up the front of the dress, and hoping his fingers wouldn't fumble if he did, as he took her hand and kissed it. "Just Teagan, please."

She shivered at the way he breathed her name then kissed her hand. He seemed reluctant to let it go, and she hoped his kisses would continue up her arm and beyond. She closed the door with her other hand then turned towards the table. "Are you hungry, my...Teagan?"

Refusing to relinquish her hand, he led her across the room. "Famished." He was, but he also wanted more than anything to get this meal out of the way so they had time to talk. He had taken a generous drink from the bizarre gift of a nearly empty flask the prince had sent him, along with a note that read 'courage,' and it was working. Suddenly all he wanted to do was talk despite his hunger. He blushed a moment later as he realized he had said that aloud. He produced the flask from his belt pouch and handed it to her nervously. "Would you like a drink? It's a very good brandy Prince Nigel sent over, though there was little of it left." He hoped she didn't want to talk about fishing, or she might discover that what little he knew, he had learned from two of the Redcliffe guards after he found out it was her favorite pastime and arranged to stumble upon her in her favorite spot. He was still amazed that he pulled that off.

She smiled up at him as she took the flask and swirled it, while wondering what her partner was up to. She took a drink and handed the now empty flask back to him. "That is good. Real top stuff there, from Antiva. I keep a bottle around for when he visits." She was about to sit at the small round table, but realized he had pulled out a chair for her and blushed as she moved to the other side sat down. "We can do both. But please, no talking about the village or the price of lake trout or the spring wheat crop."

He chuckled as he sat down. "Or whether Granny Murdock should keep her window shades down, or fishing either then. I don't give two figs about crop prices at the moment. I only want to know everything about you, my lady." He motioned to the covered dishes, indicating she should serve herself first. Normally he was too reserved to speak his mind like that, but at least he hadn't said he wanted to run his fingers through her damp curls, which he longed to do. Then he heard himself saying as his hand hovered in the air near her face, "Your hair...it's...won't you catch cold?"

She filled her plate, and then his, hoping that was right. Or should she have let him serve himself? "Oh, I'll dry it in front of the fire later."

He tensed, looking into her eyes to see if that was an invitation. She was looking down at her food, however, frowning in concentration at the forks. No, not an invitation, simply an off-hand remark, and he sympathized with the poor woman, whose hand shook as she tried to remember which one to use. "That impromptu picnic at the lake was fun, wasn't it? Why don't we have a picnic on the carpet in front of the fire, and we can eat, talk, and dry your hair at the same time." He stood, picked up one of the forks and his goblet and plate, and waited for her to do the same.

She sighed in relief as she copied his movements. "It really was fun, and it's too bad I didn't invite you to share the fish I caught. I had a dream about that." She almost bit her tongue after she spoke, and hoped he didn't notice or wouldn't ask about the dream, so she wouldn't have to lie. She didn't think she could lie right now, but she didn't want him to think her wanton. She nevertheless found herself wishing her dream had come true as she seated herself on the thick rug in front of the fire, watching him. Inadequate. She felt the urge again to find Giselle and do something, like tell her what she thought of her, or slap her silly. That Orlesian wench probably wouldn't know a good lover if he tapped her on the shoulder.

They concentrated on their supper, though they couldn't take their eyes off one another as they ate. They were both acutely aware that they were sitting maddeningly close. He ate quickly just until his hunger was sated and watched her while she ate, sipping his wine. He observed, "We haven't talked much, but I don't want to distract while you're trying to eat."

Bella set her fork down. "I'm finished." A cloud passed across her pretty face for a moment, and then she said, "No, I would like to finish my chicken. The sauce is delicious. I bet the cook used a whole pound of butter! Do you eat like this all the time?" She flushed scarlet and concluded, "You go ahead and talk about whatever you would like, and I'll listen. Have you read all those books in your library?" She concentrated on her plate before she said anything else silly, sopping up the sauce with a piece of bread.

He laughed, glad that she gave him a topic. He had been devoting himself to learning all he could about fishing. Then he was reminded of going fishing with his mother's cousin, whom he and his brother had stayed with when he was a boy, so he told her about those days. He had almost forgotten, and now he didn't feel like so much of a fraud. After talking for a while, he realized she had set her plate aside, so he broke off his story. She had turned, sitting on her knees with her arms raised, separating the last wet stands. Watching her, he couldn't help but notice how her lithe body and small but firm breasts were on display, though he could tell by her expression that she was completely unaware. Without thinking about it, he reached over and touched her hair. "It's nearly dry."

Bella gasped in surprise, but she didn't draw back. "Yes, nearly."

He quickly withdrew his hand. "Forgive me! I had no right. I don't know what came over me!"

She cursed herself for overreacting. "There's nothing to forgive, you just surprised me is all. Truth be told, I liked it." She blushed again. "I'm not wanton, but I...you..." She studied him then reached up and mussed the hair on his forehead. "There, we're even."

Teagan threw his head back and laughed. "We are at that!" He grew serious and took her hand. "I don't think you wanton, Bella. I'm the wanton one. I want nothing more at this moment than to take you in my arms and kiss you." He paled and let go of her hand as she gasped. "Forgive me! I don't know why I said that! What must you think of me!"

She took a deep breath to steady herself and looked down at the floor. "I want nothing more either. But I don't want you to think I give my affections lightly." She met his eyes, lifted her hand, and touched his smooth cheek above his neat beard. This time he gasped, then put his arms around her and pulled her into a kiss. She drew back to look into his eyes, then returned a soft but lingering kiss.

This time he broke away and took her face in hands. "Bella, please believe that I am not toying with you for my own needs. I was planning to ask you this night to marry me. I think I've fallen in love with you, and I hope you will feel the same way about me in time."

She put her hands over his. "I think I do too, Teagan. Are you?"

He frowned as he considered her question. "Am I what?" And then he flushed as he figured out what she meant. "Silly of me. I was, and I am. I even have a ring. It was my grandmother's. I'm not saying this because I want to make love to you, though I do more than anything. Will you?" He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a platinum ring with a deep blue stone.

She stood then offered him her hand. After he stood, she took his hands in hers. "You're not one to trifle with a woman's heart. You're too good, and too honest for that. I will, Teagan."

He wrapped her up in his arms in an embrace that lifted her off the ground, then set her down gently and gave her another kiss. "You've made me so happy! It's settled then. Shall we be married here, or wait until we return to Redcliffe? I'd rather not wait, but it's up to you." The fear that she would change her mind lurked in the back of his. He thanked the Maker that he didn't accidentally express that.

Bella had the same fear, that if she didn't act now, he would think her too common in time, or worse, that she would begin to find fault, as she always did. The men she had known before hadn't been that bad. She could see now that those relationships had ended because of a fear she couldn't name. Yet what good was the freedom she valued so highly, if the price was a life of loneliness, living chaste as a Chantry sister. "Could we, in the morning? Do you need the queen's permission first?"

He closed his eyes and pulled her tightly to him, his chin resting on her forehead, then let her go and slipped the ring on her finger. "I must, but it is a formality. I can write a brief letter tonight. She likes you, I can tell, and she may even honor us by attending, if it can be arranged on such short notice. Princess Leanora will be disappointed, but she will find another."

Bella chuckled then kissed him. "A pretty girl like her? Ten years and she'll be beating the suitors off with a stick, or her father will be for sure." They both laughed at that. After another kiss she added, "I'd like the rest of the delegation to be there. Zerlinda can stand with me since I don't have any kin here, and your brother for you."

Teagan sighed and stepped back. "You're right. I should send a messenger to him with a note tonight. There's much to do. As much as I still want to carry you to your bed, perhaps it's best if we wait..."

Bella tsked at him. "And neither of us has got wedding clothes either, and there are arrangements to be made, flowers and food to be got."

Teagan sighed. "You're right. We're rushing things, aren't we?"

Bella shook her head. "Teagan Guerrin, I don't care about any of those things, and I don't need an expensive spectacle. That fancy ball gown is fine. We don't need a huge feast, do we? There's two bakers I noticed close by where someone can get cakes, and a flower seller in the market. How long will it take to write a quick note—'getting married at noon, see you then.' See how easy that is?"

Teagan chuckled, though he was taken aback by how quickly she dealt with what he saw as obstacles. It occurred to him that with some training, she would make an excellent arlessa, who would have no problem standing in for him when he was away. "Noon, is it then?" He laughed and swept her up in his arms, and she put her arms around his neck. "I love that you're so practical, but we must have a cake to serve our guests though they may be few, and I insist on getting you flowers. Mrs. G can arrange those for us. For that matter, it's not late, and I'm an early riser. I think sending my notes can safely wait until the morning. Very well, my love, this night is ours."

A few hours later, Bella lay beside Teagan, who was in a sound sleep, his left arm around her, holding her to him. She sighed happily as she stretched out her arm to look at the ring again. The fear that her life was changing inexorably still nagged at her. She would have to give up her duties as mayor, for one thing. However, the more she thought about that, the less it bothered her. A bigger concern was her tavern, but she had to admit she had a staff she could trust to run it for her. She had her friends in the village she would miss, but if she had it her way, the two of them would make regular visits to their village.

Teagan murmured something, and she turned and snuggled closer against his body, put her arm around him, and kissed him on his cheek. It had been too long since she had felt a man's skin warming her own. Inadequate, indeed. She thought he had been more than adequate, especially the second time. Her toes still tingled.


	12. Seizing the Moment While We May

Chapter 12 Seizing the Moment

Usual disclaimer: Most of the characters in this chapter are not owned by me, but by Bioware, EA, and probably others. But I claim their Cousland noble and his dog as my own.

The first rays of dawn were creeping over the horizon when Teagan awoke. He looked around for a moment until he remembered where he was, smiled when he saw Bella sleeping beside him, and raised up on one elbow, watching her as she slept. A few minutes later, the rosy light streaming in the window caused her to stir, or perhaps it was sensing she was being watched. She smiled and turned to face him.

He smiled back and stroked her cheek, pushing her hair back. "Good morning, my love. You're so beautiful when you're sleeping...ah I mean, that's not to say you're not beautiful anytime."

She chuckled and kissed him softly. "Thank you, though the truth is most people aren't at their best when they first wake up." She kissed him again, and he returned the kiss.

"True, but unlike most people, you are beautiful." He broke away reluctantly after another kiss. "As much as I want to lie abed all day with you, we have a wedding for which to prepare, don't we?" Still, he couldn't resist one more lingering kiss.

She glanced at the window as he broke away, then put her arms around him. "Aye, we do at that, but 'tis early yet. We have a bit of time, don't we?"

He glanced at the window as well. "Indeed we do. In that case..." He gave her a passionate kiss as she rolled beneath him, already as comfortable together as long time lovers.

That was not the reason why the wedding didn't take place at noon as they had planned, but rather at three o'clock on that blustery spring day. It was due rather to the queen sending a reply to Teagan's letter via Teagan's courier, who ran both to and from the castle. It had been hastily written by her seneschal as she dictated, but signed by her own hand. The queen gave her arl leave to marry and offered her congratulations. She also stated that they dearly wished to attend, but could not possibly at noon. She could, however, attend at three. Could that be arranged? She was also sending a request to the Grand Cleric so it could be arranged. She invited them to an early celebratory dinner to follow, as her guests of honor.

At the bottom, the prince had written a note of congratulation to them both, ending with a personal note to Teagan,"About time, old man. Good on you!"

A short while later, after Teagan had written his letters, Bella had sent Zerlinda to gather the rest of the Redcliffe delegation, and they had dressed, Bella read the queen's response. She would have to get used to receiving letters from the Queen of Ferelden. Bella mused, "This is more of a command than a request, isn't it? At the same time, it's a real honor too."

"Indeed it is," Teagan replied, pleased that she was catching on so quickly and that he need not explain it to her. He was even more pleased that she didn't object to the queen commandeering their wedding. He leaned over her, put his arms around her waist, and kissed her cheek. "That means we have time for a leisurely lunch, my love. Pity we're already dressed, or..."

Bella chuckled as she turned and put her arms around him. "Pity. But we should save something for the honeymoon."

He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. "Ah, yes. The honeymoon. That thought will have to hold me."

Fortunately, when Mrs. Gallagher had taken Bella to the seamstress days before to have the ball gown fitted, she had taken her aside while Bella was changing and slipped her enough coin to pay not only for the actual cost of the ball gown (and not the bargain price Bella thought she had gotten it for), but also enough to pay for an elegant day gown, made of a fine lilac colored linen that the perceptive housekeeper noticed Bella's attention, and calloused fingers, had lingered on. She naturally then had to order through the seamstress a matching hat in the latest style to go with it, a cloak, shoes, and several pairs of gloves to protect those slender fingers from further callouses.

While she was at it, she had decided Bella simply must have a gown for evening wear, made from a rose silk Bella had also admired, and also ordered one in black silk, though she debated about whether it was too matronly a color for her. Having unpacked her bag and seen the wretched state of her things, Mrs. Gallagher decided to surprise Bella with a box full of assorted feminine undergarments that were not made from flour sacks, several new pairs of stockings, and three new nightgowns. What she had brought with her could then be turned into rags, in Mrs. Gallagher's opinion.

She had to order Bella the proper shoes to go with the new clothing when they visited the cobbler, and paid extra so he could get them all made quickly. Distracting Bella throughout the excursion hadn't been easy, but fortunately she was a good girl and didn't mind running off to a nearby shop to order a cup of tea and a biscuit for an old woman. Her arl had given her a pouch of coins and requested that she buy whatever she thought Bella needed. Mrs. Gallagher had interpreted that request literally, and in effect had ordered a wedding trousseau, without realizing it.

But like a drunk feeling shameful remorse after sobering up and confronted with the damage done, she was fretting the morning after her spree, trying to figure out how she would explain herself. Yet how could she explain to him what she didn't understand herself? Perhaps it was her fondness for her arl, or nostalgia for a daughter she had lost. However, her fretfulness only lasted only until she observed them talking as they prepared to leave for the hunt. The truth was in their eyes, which lingered on each others' faces, and in the way they leaned close, smiled, and touched one another as they talked, oblivious to her and the rest of the world. She knew that look, and had known in her heart then that it was only a matter of time, if nothing interfered this time. Maybe sooner, with a little push...

She knew how to push. She asked the arl innocently before they left if he wouldn't rather dine in that evening, to get that thought into his mind, then had gone to the kitchen and asked the head cook to make something special for the arl's supper, in the event that he had company. She specifically asked for a Rivaini chicken dish, rich with butter and exotic spices, reputed to inflame the passions of anyone who partook of it. The cook had mentioned it in a ribald tale he had told in the staff dining room one night. He arched a thick black eyebrow, then grinned widely, nudged her, and got to work, and Mrs. Gallagher got to hers too, humming with satisfaction. The cook later suggested pairing the chicken with a Nevarran wine reputed to have similar properties. Between the chicken and the ruby wine, Teagan and Bella had been primed for a night of passion without ever knowing it. All that was needed was a spark, which was provided unbeknownst to anyone but the prince by his drugged brandy.

That's not to say Mrs. Gallagher hadn't felt foolish as the packages began to arrive, and she had to hide them away in her room, ignoring the questioning looks from the rest of the staff. But the Maker had smiled on them all, and when her arl and Bella returned from the hunt, he had requested that dinner be brought up to the lady's chamber, as they were too tired to go out. Not that they seemed all that tired when they parted. She did her part as well before they arrived with the lavender and rose water, candles, and whatever else she could think of placing in both bed chambers, ignoring the fact that she was going to look foolish if nothing came of her efforts. She was fond of reading Nevarran romances, so she did whatever she could think of to set the mood. Her final touch was sharing with Bella the arl's unfortunate past with women, hoping she had predicted the lady's response right. She laid it on thick, but was rewarded with an expression that told her Bella had taken the bait.

Then this morning the arl's valet Byron took her aside as the staff ate their breakfast and reported that the arl's room hadn't been slept in, but no one had seen him leave last night or this morning. He always let Byron know if he was going out or was making one of his rare visits to _The Pearl_. As they spoke, a flustered elven maid interrupted them and told her she had gone to see if she could tidy up the lady Bella's room from last night's dinner, but it didn't _sound_ like she was alone, and she didn't know whether she should knock or wait, so she ran downstairs. Mrs. Gallagher clapped her hands with joy and exclaimed, "I believe we'll soon have us an arlessa, and Maker willing, an heir within a year!"

As it turned out, Teagan and his soon-to-be arlessa were astonished by Mrs. Gallagher's perceptiveness when they sent for her and Byron and made their announcement. She had congratulated them both heartily, but told them she had anticipated their news, and therefore had ordered Bella a "few new things." Bella had insisted that she should be married in the ball gown that she already owned, which had caused Byron to gasp in horror and Mrs. Gallagher to shudder and mutter, "The difference between appropriate day wear and evening wear shall be our first lesson, my lady." She quickly ran off to retrieve the packages with the help of one of the maids. Byron congratulated them, excused himself, and hurried to the arl's dressing chamber with the new robin's egg blue doublet he had worn to Bella's room, to give it a fresh pressing, since it was the best one he had with him, muttering that he wished she had shared her anticipation of their situation with him.

Despite her objection, Bella gasped in delight when she opened the package containing the lilac gown, and she blushed but smiled when she opened the box containing all the undergarments, though she expressed concern over the cost of it all. Teagan examined her purchases as he held up the rose silk gown, and raised an eyebrow at just how liberally Mrs. Gallagher had interpreted his request, though he was secretly pleased to see the delicate undergarments, hoping he would soon be rewarded by getting to see his bride in them. He kissed his housekeeper's forehead and thanked her before she shooed him out to finish getting dressed, and she and the maid turned to dress Bella, who was still clutching the lilac gown that was clearly the right choice.

Arl Eamon's reaction when he read his brother's note over breakfast was similar to the prince's, though Arlessa Isolde complained as she buttered her toast, "Yes, Eamon, I am happy at long last Teagan is marrying, but she is so common!"

Eamon rebuked her gently, having gotten to know his future sister-in-law well enough that he was satisfied by his brother's choice. He also reminded his lady that she was not as high born as many believed her to be, though he was very diplomatic and didn't do so in so many words. As much as Eamon was happy for his brother, he was happier still that someone who wasn't a mage might yet carry on the Guerrin line, since his own wife had been unable to produce another heir. It was bad enough to him that all that remained now of the Therrin line was King Maric's bastard Alistair, and thanks to Rendon Howe's ambitions, Ferelden came very close to losing the Cousland line as well as the Howe line. The thought of the possibility of four ancient families being wiped out in one generation made him fear for the future of of his kingdom. Who would the lesser families turn to for guidance?

They were waiting for their carriage to be brought around to travel across the city to the Chantry when a messenger arrived to inform them of the new time, along with an invitation to an early dinner to follow at the palace. "Interesting," he mused to Isolde as he escorted her back inside, as to Isolde, this meant she must change everything that she was wearing. "The queen either approves of the match, or she's offering the girl up to the nobility as the main course. No, I don't think that's the case. No doubt she approves, and this is her way of showing her approval. Teagan has always been a favorite of hers, and she's been dropping hints since he became arl that he should marry. Nevertheless, we should be ready to fight off the vultures if it's the latter."

Gossip about the pending nuptials had spread like a virus around the city, carried first by servants, especially after word got out that the queen and prince consort were going to attend. A flurry of carrier pigeons bearing messages traveled between various noble estates, and couriers ran through the streets. Many arrived at the Chantry well before the set time to get the best seats, only to find those reserved for family and _invited_ guests. So despite Teagan and Bella hoping for a small, private ceremony, the main hall was filled with their friends, family, neighbors, and much of the local gentry, some of whom were only there because they were curious to see the woman who finally managed to nail Teagan Guerrin down. Some, both commoner and noble, also whispered about the haste of the wedding, and speculated how far along the bride might be, and whether her gown had been cut to hide that. Others only went hoping the queen would notice their presence. Luckily, few of those attendees were invited to dinner.

The crown princess Leanora had been allowed by the queen to attend the wedding because she had outgrown naps, but also because she was very fond of her "Uncle Teagan." As she had watched the ceremony, sitting quietly between her parents, a few uncontrolled shudders were the only indication that anything was amiss with her. Her father looked down at her, then put his arm around her and gently wiped away the few tears that rolled down her cheeks. She didn't understand why she was sad as she tried to control herself and not be such a big baby. Besides, she didn't think a princess should cry where everyone could see her. She did allow that his new wife was very pretty and seemed very nice. But he was _her_ Teagan. Luckily her father understood, and his gentle touch and whispering in her ear, "I know my love, but by the time you've grown, he will be as old as his brother," and the involuntary glance at Arl Eamon that provoked, made her feel better.

The Orlesian ambassador had been invited to dine with the queen, since Anton had been cremated that morning. Nigel met her maid's eyes as they entered the dining hall and gave her a shadow of a smile, just enough to acknowledge her, but not long enough for her mistress to notice. He had gone with Iolanthe as she had explained what had happened to Anton, as he had promised. He dare not let his eyes linger on the pretty elf, but he thought he could detect fresh swelling on her cheek despite a thick coat of paint. Predictably, the Ambassador had declined to accompany Iolanthe to bring Anton's ashes home and explain his death to his mother in Jader, which was just as well. It gave Nigel time to win over her maid to their side before they arrived. However, judging from the hurt and fear the girl's eyes showed when the Ambassador threw her to the wolves, she knew she had little choice but to switch allegiances.

The real pity was that the amount of brandy that Anton had consumed might have contributed to his accidental death, if it was an accident. Nigel still had his doubts about that, though he cursed himself for trying to put the blame elsewhere. He had heard nothing to the contrary so far from the brother at the Chantry. He had to tread lightly so that Anora wouldn't make the connection and blame herself for encouraging Anton to drink. Still, when it came down to it, it was his own fault for not hiding that bottle better where no one could have happened upon it.

When next he saw Zev, if he next saw Zev, he would have to take the time to ask him more about his drugs and their side effects. Yet he knew he was fooling himself. Whenever they came together, it was always like that first night in camp all those years ago when he had asked him to come into his tent, and in only a few frantic kisses they were lost in the heat of the sex. He sighed and pushed his hair back before his mood got darker and infected the happy occasion of his friend's wedding.

The happy couple, as the guests of honor, sat at the high table with the royals and Eamon and Isolde. Bella was relieved to see that she was seated on the left beside the prince, and not beside the queen. She supposed it was because she had met him before he became the prince, when he was just the Warden, that she found him less intimidating. So between subtle nudges from him and also from Teagan under the table, or eating slowly so she could copy what they did, she made it through the meal with a minimum of frazzled nerves. She also realized to her relief that she was remembering which of all those silly forks to use at the proper time. Unknown to her, those few who were observing her eat hoping for something to gossip about later, were impressed by her manners, despite her low birth. They thought her so unlike the rest of the common rabble from Redcliffe.

The Redcliffe delegation had their own table. Most of them were relieved that not too many of the "hoity toity" crowd that had been at the Chantry had been invited. Among the nobles invited were the ones who had caught the game at the hunt and donated it to the feast, and others who were known to be friends of the Guerrins, and a few whom the queen wanted to acknowledge. Teagan also had insisted Mrs. Gallagher and his valet Byron come. They agreed, and sat at the courtiers' table, though she felt out of place. She considered for a moment whether she was being promoted to serve as the new arlessa's lady's maid, as a way of easing Bella into her new position. She welcomed the change, as she had planned to retire soon, and she had been grooming her assistant to take over her duties. She thought the move would provide a good transition for them both, long enough for Mrs. Gallagher to find her a real lady's maid.

Two of the Redcliffians and the Nevarran ambassador had brought their children with them, the former because it was the custom in Nevarra, and the latter because they didn't know any better. Anora had decided in that case, she would allow all her daughters to join the festivities at a children's table. She explained to Nigel that she thought it was time her girls meet children from outside their sheltered nest in the palace, and outside of the nobility as well. It was a practice her parents had followed, and she thought it had given her insight into the lives of her subjects. He agreed, having gotten to know people from all classes as he and Alistair traveled around Ferelden all those years ago, and wishing that he had gotten to know the people of Highever, outside of those he had encountered in the taverns, better. A low round table was quickly brought in from the storerooms, with child-sized chairs brought in just right for the girls, though it was a bit small for the older children at the table.

During dinner Anora turned her attention to Teagan and Bella. "Do you plan to stay longer in the city for a honeymoon?"

They grinned at one another, and Bella admitted, "We hadn't thought that far ahead, but I like the thought of having more time with my husband before we return to Redcliffe, especially since I will have many new duties to learn. " She was actually thankful she had so much to learn, as she knew she otherwise would be hovering over her head barmaid, who she was going to appoint as the tavern's manager, until she was confidant she could brew a proper batch of ale. As for the village, a deputy mayor had been appointed before they left, so she really had no reason to rush back.

Teagan had thought about extending their stay in Denerim since they had their own estate, unless they went somewhere else. What was unsaid was his fear that Isolde would be dropping by every day with _helpful_ advice for Bella. As much as he cared for his sister-in-law, he didn't look forward to holding his tongue for his brother's sake as she found fault with everything Bella did and said. It was not spiteful, but simply Isolde's nature. Teagan turned towards the royal couple to reply, leaning around his bride. "It is tempting to take a trip to visit some friends in the Bannorn and stay a few weeks at in Rainesfere, or we could even visit Fergus and Alfstanna in Highever. I haven't seen them since their wedding. We could go further still, to the Marches so I can introduce Bella to our distant cousins there. Now that I think about it, I want to show off my bride before we return home."

Bella took his hand and kissed it. "I would love to see Rainsfaire, but I would also like to see where you were raised. I've never been anywhere but Redcliffe and now Denerim, so I would like to see more of the world while we can."

Anora nodded approvingly. "I agree. Soon you'll have duties aplenty, and if you don't take this time now, I think you'll regret it later. I insist you run away while you can."

Nigel drew back to look at them, squaring them between his thumbs and index fingers. "They look perfect together, don't they, my dear? I must send my new favorite painter to Redcliffe when you return to paint an official portrait, while you're both so attractive. Go to Highever. I'm sure Fergus and Alfstanna would love to see you too." He sat back while the servers cleared his plate and had a sudden thought. "You know, for a real honeymoon, you could come with me to Val Royeaux. You must see the grand cathedral and the opera house. It's a place everyone should see at least once. Or if you don't want to go that far, we can drop you in Kirkwall, and you can hire a coach to take you to Starkhaven, or further into The Marches."

Bella gasped, "Oh, the Grand Cathedral!" A moment later she added, "But I'm sure the Orlesians will find fault with everything I do." It wasn't that she really cared what any Orlesian might think of her, but more that she didn't want to embarrass Teagan.

Teagan had his own reasons not to return to Val Royeaux, though he was swayed by the excited spark in Bella's eyes. "Thank you, Your Highness, but we wouldn't want to impose."

Nigel took their hands. "I insist. You can take my cabin. I can stay with the captain or my guards. At least think about it. If this storm passes, we should set sail at high tide tomorrow night."

Anora thought wistfully that she had yet to have a proper honeymoon with either of her husbands, though she supposed their triumphant return from Highever after Leanora's birth counted. Perhaps there would be time for one some day, when the girls were older, and the threat from Orlais was neutralized. "You really must go. The royal cabin will a lovely place to spend the journey."

Teagan and Bella looked at one another. She also recalled Mr's Gallagher's story of his unfortunate past. "We could travel as far as the Marches, couldn't we?" Yet in the back of her mind was a thought that returning to Orlais might help her husband put his demons to rest for good. She hoped they would encounter the wench who had hurt him, and she hoped her hair had gone gray and that she had gained a hundred pounds as well.

Teagan discovered he couldn't say no to anything his bride suggested. "Very well, dearest. I suppose I should get a few new things before we leave too. Good thing Mrs. G already provided for you."

Nigel chuckled. "No need to buy too much. Orlesians think we Fereldans are all bumpkins anyway. All you will need to buy is a few masks when we arrive, if you go that far, and I hope you will."

A short while later the guests were having sherry and walking off dinner around the hall while they were waiting for the cake to be brought in. The happy couple were talking with Eamon and Isolde, and wishing they could skip the cake, as Mrs. Gallagher had ordered one before they received the queen's invitation, which Teagan then gave to his staff to have with their dinner. But it would be early enough when they returned to the estate that he and Bella would be expected to share it with them, and accept a toast to their future, before they could politely slip away to his chambers.

Nigel nudged Anora, and whispered, "Look there! Our crown princess is holding her first court. Let's go spy on them."

Anora smiled at her girls seated around their table. "Go ahead, my dear. I'm going to take Bella and introduce her around while we wait, and free her from Isolde."

She walked up to Bella and Isolde, who both curtsied. As they stood, she took Bella's arm. "Shall we walk the room together for a while? She kissed Bella's cheek, and then offered her other hand to Isolde.

Bella blushed, knowing already that the queen kissing someone on the cheek publicly was something reserved for family and very close friends. She curtsied again. "Thank you, your Majesty."

As they walked off, Eamon leaned close to his brother. "I was right, Her Majesty does approve."

Nigel circled around and found a place to observe the children without them being aware. Leanora sat at the head of the table, her earlier tears forgotten. She really did seem to take the lead naturally, just like Anora. Her sisters sat in the middle on either side of her, with Erlina's son Gerard sitting across from Leanora, like points on a compass. He figured that it would be all over the city tomorrow that the young princesses were not only allowed to dine with the adults, but also that an elf was seated at the table with them. He knew Erlina would not have brought her son at all if it had been up to her, but the princesses insisted, so Anora had insisted. He had to wonder what the world would be like when they were grown. Gerard was already like a brother to them.

The other children were arranged between them. Eliza, the quiet, raven-haired Nevarran girl of about eight sat beside Leanora, though her attention was riveted on the brash, flame-haired daughter of the head of the Redcliffe fishers' guild across the table next to Gerard. He remembered the others called her "Ginger Sally." Her mother had fought with them in Redcliffe against the undead, despite having lost her husband the night before, and being four months along with this girl. He had seen her around the village on his infrequent visits since then, usually leading the other children. She was a girl who naturally drew one's attention. He listened as she explained to a wide-eyed Gerard and Eliza how to clean various fish, in excruciating detail. Gerard was amazed to hear that she had her own knives, and that she already worked alongside her mother. He seemed especially fascinated by her description of the various tools of the trade. Nigel was again reminded of Zev, though if he had anything to say about it, their son would not follow in his father's footsteps.

He observed that the eleven year old master of pup, Derrick, was quite a handsome lad now that he had a clean face, combed hair, and was wearing the staff livery. He was the oldest at the children's table, sitting awkwardly next to Moira because she kept her mother's new puppy at her side whenever she could. The boy's expression showed bemusement at this little girl who already possessed such an air authority, as she bombarded him with questions about training dogs for defense and battle, and life in the kennels in general. She listened as he told her of his ambition to join the Queen's guard and run his own Mabari pack, and how he was learning to use a sword. Nigel knew that before he left for Orlais, Moira would demand that she begin sword training as well. He noted that Derrick answered all of her questions with good grace, partly because that seemed to be his nature, but also Nigel surmised, because he seemed to be a clever boy, clever enough to understand that one day he would take orders from these little girls.

Leanora and her sister Eleanor had the young dwarven boy from Redcliffe between them on Leanora's left. Nigel tried to remember his name. Brick? Rock? Surely not, but either would fit him. He was small in stature, not being much taller than Leanora, though twice as wide and already solid as the stone the dwarves revered. Nigel recalled him as an infant in his mother's arms in Dust Town at least seven years ago, when she had begged for a few coins as they passed, and told them of her family's rejection of her and her son because his father was casteless. It was hard to believe that frail infant had grown into this sturdy boy, developing muscles already playing under his tunic. Nigel wasn't sure if he was already showing the shadow of sprouting facial hair, or if it was a trick of the light.

The princesses had never been this close to a real dwarf before, though Nigel had told them stories about Orzammar. Even though he had hoped they both knew better, he cringed as he heard Leanora ask about the mark on his cheek, which the boy explained with the patient air of someone who has done that a hundred times at least. Eleanor looked at him sadly and reached up to touch it, causing Nigel to cringe again. He hoped they would understand the lecture he would give them tomorrow before he left.

Leanora tried to understand and asked, "So it has to do with the work your family does then? Would I have a "P" on my cheek if I had been born in Orzammar? Or an "R"?"

The boy answered patiently, "No, your highness, only the casteless have a brand, and it says to everyone they aren't fit for any work. But me ma told me if any dusters say anything about it, tell 'em that up here, we're all casteless, so we can do whatever we want."

Leanora nodded, still trying to make sense of that. He didn't seem like there was anything wrong with him, and she thought it was silly to treat one's subjects like that for something they couldn't help, like who their parents were. "Indeed you can do whatever you wish, Bhrack, except become the king. What is it you would like to do?"

He grinned widely. "Me? Ma's already havin' me trained to be a warrior. She says that King Bhelen is making changes, and maybe by the time I'm grown up, they'll welcome us surfacers back."

"You want to go there?" Eleanor asked, wide-eyed as she tried to imagine that, horrified at he cruelty of casting off a child, much less of branding an infant, and trying to understand why anyone would willingly go back to such a cruel place. She wasn't sure it was a place she ever wanted to visit, despite what her father said about it.

The boy shrugged. "Nah, I've lived near my whole life on the surface. But I think me Ma misses it. Maybe I'll go to visit one day, but she says they don't got trees there, and you can't see the sky at all. There's no sun, no moon, no stars, just lava, and rock overhead! I can't even imagine that."

Leanora tried to imagine life without those things she took for granted as well. It sounded dreary the way he described it. "But Papa said it was...magnificent!" She wasn't sure what that meant other than really good, and she didn't understand everything her father always said about its grandeur making one question reason for the sun, but she knew from the far away gleam in his eyes whenever he talked about Orzammar that he liked it a lot. "He would like to take us there one day. Perhaps by then you can come as one of my bodyguards."

He rubbed his chin and considered her offer. "Bodyguard to the princess. I would like that, yer highness."

As Nigel studied the group, he had a sudden vision of the adult versions of these children, adventuring around Ferelden together, in service to Queen Leanora. He could see Bhrack with a two handed hammer as tall as he was, and the Nevarran girl was wearing the robes of a mage. His own Moira was wielding her grandfather's two handed sword, Ginger Sally and Derrick were each bearing a sword and shield, and Derrick and Moira each had a mabari at their sides. Gerard drew long daggers, darting silently from the shadows, possibly beside his own Eleanor. While she had always seemed sickly, he knew she and Gerard ran circles around her sisters, when she wanted to. He might even train the two of them to fight. After all, he had learned the two weapon fighting style from his mother. Then it faded, as quickly as it appeared, and he said a prayer of thanks to the Lady Anstraste. He might have gone to his Calling by the time they were as old as in his vision, but just the thought gave him hope for the future of Ferelden.


	13. The Departure

Chapter 12 The Departure

Usual disclaimer: Some of the characters in this story are owned by EAware and not me, though I claim their Cousland noble as my own.

The night began with the promised poison tutorial,which Nigel gave to both Anora and a reluctant Erlina. Anora had already made up her mind that she wasn't going to follow his precaution of building up an immunity against being poisoned. However, she kept her decision to herself. Once they had both demonstrated their understanding to Nigel's satisfaction, and Erlina had gone to bed, Anora lingered and looked around Nigel's private retreat, waiting while he put his vials away. She noticed the box _under_ the bed. "What do you keep in this? Would you mind showing me?"

Nigel arched an eyebrow seeing the thoroughness of her inspection of his _private_ room, but obliged, though he muttered that he still needed to go through his trunks to approve what his courtiers had packed for his journey. "Those hold some things that...well, if you really want to know, I suppose it's best just to show you." He knelt on the floor and pulled the box out from under the bed.

He satisfied her curiosity, but at the same time revealed more than she had ever suspected. Anora already knew about his small whip, and had even been persuaded to have a go at his back once before the twins were born, but as for the rest...She had no idea that people used such things, or why, nor could she imagine how someone ever came up with some of those ideas in the first place, or that a craftsman would agree to create the tools to bring their fantasies to life. One item in particular caught her attention. She ran her fingers over the long, smooth porcelain surface, trying to be nonchalant about the whole thing. She looked up at him, surprised her cheeks weren't burning as she asked, "This looks to be a match to you...your...Don't tell me it was molded to _yourself_? I can see how it would be _useful_ for a woman alone, but what is the harness for?"

He turned to face her and looked down at his lap then back up and grinned his wolfish grin. "Me? You're being far too generous, love, but feel free to describe me your ladies that way. As for the reason for the straps, I'm sure you can work it out, if you think on it."

And she had, even as he spoke. " Oh!" She had nearly dropped it in her haste to set it back in the box, though the image in her mind lingered. It was an image one simply could not un-see. She was blushing now in earnest. "I don't understand how it could give a woman much pleasure, other than through the pleasure it gives her lover, I suppose?"

He crossed the room and sat beside her. "Or if one's lover is another woman, my dear. There is also a feeling of power gained from being in the dominant position, or so I've heard. However, I'm not sure you have any need of that in our relationship."

"You don't know?" She hadn't been sure whether to be relieved, or disappointed, and for once she didn't care for being reminded that she was the one who held most of the power in their marriage. She turned back to the chest and gingerly poked through the content. It was like a carriage wreck. She found herself unable to look away, or put it aside.

He glanced at her, noting her curiosity. "The majority of these items were gifts, most of them from Zev, though I suspect that he sent them hoping that you would intercept them. That particular one you first noticed was sent to me as a wedding present by a Rivaini pirate I met years ago at _The Pearl_."

Yet it wasn't lost on her that he knew how each was used as they both perused the contents of the chest. "Not _that_ Rivaini pirate? Not the one in the story about you, Zevran, and the former sister, on board her ship with three greased nugs?"

He chuckled and set a few items aside. "I should take these to Orlais," he said. "Any number of people will be taking an opportunity to snoop in my things while I'm out, I'm certain. I know you're certainly distracted." He leaned close and kissed her cheek, and then brushed aside her hair and kissed her earlobe. Anora frowned and tried to push him away.

She could be so moody sometimes. He broke off his attack, for now. "The very same pirate Isabella, though the nugs were brought on board by her dwarven crew members to eat, not to...you know. We all just happened to board at the same time. She and Leliana had quite the time both with and without a device similar to this one, while Zev and I found our own corner of her cabin." That was only partially true, but he didn't wish to provoke jealousy of a pirate she would never meet.

"Is that so?" She held up a set of shackles, lined with fleece, no doubt, she guessed, to prevent leaving visible marks.

He pressed his attack again. "It is quite so. It looks like you've found something else that has captured your fancy, though one should work up to those. Shall I demonstrate?"

She couldn't believe she didn't say no as he began kissing her again, then pushed her robe off her shoulders. He studied her face for a moment as she slipped her arms out of the robe, reading her mood there, then quickly snatched the front of her nightgown indelicately and ripped it open. What strong hands he had! Maker's breath, she couldn't help but let out a shriek, and she was glad, yet terrified that his private room was well insulated against sound.

She regarded him as he stared at her, eyes burning with lust. She looked away. "Nigel! You've ruined my favorite nightgown!" Not that she really objected, but she wasn't ready to tell him that.

"I did. I'll buy you a new one, if you're good." He pushed her back on the narrow bed and began kissing her roughly, and she found herself returning his kisses, one hand twisting one of his fore braids and then trying in vain to tear his shirt as well.

He drew back to look at her then tore the neck, and watched her finish the rest. "Enough of that, for now." He finished ripping off her nightgown and tore off two long strips. He paused to searched her eyes for her approval, and trust.

She hesitated for only a moment then nodded, giving both, and he looped the strips around her wrists before she had time to object. He smiled at her after he secured her wrists to the bed frame and whispered, "Lavender."

Her face was nervous, but excited as she repeated the word. "Lavender?"

He nodded. "If at any time you are finding this a bit too much, that word will tell me it's time to stop."

She looked relieved as she mouthed the word, tugging at her wrists. He looked so handsome in the candlelight, with his shirt torn open and his tight trousers hugging his legs. It occurred to her how much she trusted him now, to let him have her this way. What a change from a few years ago, when she feared he planned to murder her and take her throne. She breathed, "I do trust you."

He slowly unlaced the front of his trousers half way, then selected a thin leather band from the chest. "That's pleasing. I am glad to have earned it." He smiled slyly. "But you have been bad, haven't you."

Her breath caught for a moment, and then she answered the only way she could. "Yes, very bad."

Though he had said his farewells to his three daughters and his ward over dinner, Moira had made up her mind that she was having none of it. She lay in her bed staring at patterns the moonlight shining through the curtain made on the ceiling, her twin dozing peacefully beside her, as she fretted that her papa was leaving them. What if he never came back to her? What if some of those bad Orlesians did something to him? What if there were more darkspawn in Orlais? Or worse? Finally, she had had enough of contemplating every horror a nearly four year old could imagine, and took action against them.

She slipped out of bed and pulled open her drawers, selecting a few of her favorite clothes. Next she grabbed her wooden practice sword, a parting gift and early birthday present from her father. She removed her nightgown and folded it, then put on her best play clothes, socks, and her boots. She turned and looked at her twin, still fast asleep, and sighed. She couldn't imagine being without her El, but she didn't have a choice. At least El would have Leanora and Gerard. She set her jaw in determination and looked around for something to put her clothes in.

Her pillowcase would have to do, as she couldn't think of anything else. She tossed the pillow aside and shoved her clothes in it, and tried to add a few favorite toys to her pillowcase as well, but there wasn't room. If she was big enough to go with her father, she was big enough to make do without toys, and she set those aside. Glancing at position of the moon, she didn't think she had much time. She might have to run to get to the docks and then find a place to hide on the ship so he wouldn't see her until it was too late. She fastened her cloak, strapped on her sword, then ran back to the bed and gave her twin a farewell kiss on the cheek. There was no time to see Leanora and Gerard, so she heaved her pillowcase over her shoulder and slowly opened the door.

Unfortunately for her ill-thought-out plans, she had made too much noise, and their nanny, Mrs. Hastings, was standing on the other side of the door waiting for her, arms folded over her narrow chest, and looking very cross. Because of Eleanor's coughing fits, their parents had specifically selected their nanny because in addition to her years of experience with children and nursing, she had told Erlina during the hiring interview that she was a very light sleeper. She barked, "What is the meaning of this, Your Highness? It is much too late for you to be out of bed. What can you be thinking? Go back to bed at once!"

"I'm going with my papa! You can't stop me!" Moira stomped her foot and fixed her with her grandfather's steely stare, that would become intimidating when her size matched it.

Mrs. Hastings had dealt with more strong-willed children in her life than this one, but not many, and not one so young. "What kind of foolishness is this, young lady? The only place you are going is back to bed, this instant! Would you even know how to get to his ship even if you were to make it outside of the castle undetected, and do you seriously think His Highness would allow you to undertake a dangerous sea voyage at your age? Think again, my lady!" Seeing that her charge was not to be moved, she snatched away the pillowcase, then made a grab for the girl.

Knowing there was nothing she could do after her dodge was blocked, Moira burst into hot angry tears of resignation. However, the tears didn't last more than the length of a few breaths, and were followed a moment later by a kicking, screaming fit as the girl found fresh resolve and tried her best to escape her captor's clutches. She grabbed at whatever she could as her nanny tried to drag her back to bed. A minute later, Leanora's bleary-eyed nanny Rose opened the door to the girls' common room, followed by a curious Leanora. Rose muttered under her breath, and then wasted no time in showing the older woman how to deal with a temper tantrum, and tried to seize the girl; she was rewarded for her efforts by a bite on the hand, causing her to introduce the crown princess to a new exclamation regarding Andraste that made Leanora blush, instinctively knowing it was very wrong.

Not even her twin Eleanor, who appeared next, was able to calm Moira, not even after she began coughing from the exertion. An exasperated Mrs. Hastings was forced to send Rose for Erlina, who had just awakened from the commotion as well. Erlina and her son Gerard made their own attempts to calm the princess down, Gerard going to far as to mock her for acting like a baby. It was something that Erlina knew she would have to admonish him for later, not that she felt the princess hadn't deserved it. After sending Gerard to help Eleanor with her coughing fit, Erlina reluctantly went to find the prince, knowing that his ship wasn't due to sail for at least another hour.

The only one in the prince's chambers was his courtier Owain, who shrugged helplessly. "No, miss, I haven't seen him, and I was becoming concerned about the lateness of the hour, though he has to come back for Buddy. I've already sent the prince's trunks and my own to the ship, and I was about to leave myself. Buddy and I'll run down there to see if I've missed him." Buddy stood and stretched, then followed the courtier out the door.

The queen wasn't in her bedchamber either, and the guards on duty outside her door hadn't seen her return. Erlina frowned with concern, but the last thing she needed was an escort. "I think I might know where they are. However, you should wait here and tell Her Majesty that she is needed right away in the princesses' chambers when she returns, if I haven't found her first." Erlina assumed correctly they must have lingered in Nigel's room, and fretted about what they might be doing there. Her lady was taking a terrible risk, considering that she had nearly died when the twins were born.

Fortunately, the guards remained at their post, and no one accompanied Erlina, so she didn't have to explain why she was looking for the royal couple in a broom closet. She had the good sense not to enter, instead rapping firmly and calling out until Anora answered. Erlina explained the situation to them through the door. By that time Anora and Nigel had finished their exploration and more, and after an application of healing salve, they were lying quietly sated on the narrow bed together in the time that remained to them until he departed.

Anora apologized to Erlina for her daughter's actions through the door. "Go and tell Moira that we are coming, and tell her that her father and I are not happy with her."

Nigel dressed quickly, grabbing a fresh shirt from the wardrobe. The nightgown which Anora had worn to his room lay in pieces on the floor. She could have thrown on her robe alone, but she feared her nakedness would be betrayed by a glimpse of bare leg or shoulder under it. She watched Nigel dress for a moment, and then grabbed another shirt and a pair of trousers from his wardrobe and pulled them on, and put on one of his spare doublets over the shirt. She was beginning to understand why he needed changes of clothes to be kept in this room. The trousers were snug around her hips, and long enough that she had to roll them up, but fit otherwise.

Nigel gave her an appreciative leer as he helped her with her lacing. "I like this." He murmured, "My trousers fit you well, in all the right places." He fondled her hips. "Feel free to wear them while I'm gone. You may even start a new fashion trend, though I fear they might provoke lustful thoughts from your guards. Now let's go deal with our little she-wolf."

But even Nigel's gentle reassurances, threats, and promises hadn't stopped the flow of Moira's angry tears, nor had Anora's admonishment and threats that she would make herself sick worked, as she already had, or that she surely would be punished. By then all of the children except for Leanora were also crying, either due to tiredness, fear, or in sympathy with Moira.

Nigel had met his match, for now. He pushed her hair back from her face and met her eyes. "You simply cannot accompany me, but you and your sisters may come to the docks to see me off, if you will settle down this instant. But I warn you, one more tear, and my offer will be rescinded."

That did the trick, though it was hard to stop the gasping sobs, and she felt like she was going to be sick again and lose what remained of her supper. But Moira had the advantage, and pressed it as she allowed him to wipe her face, even though in the back of her mind she knew she would face punishment from her mother later. "Promise that Gerard can come as well. He will miss you too."

They agreed, though Anora had whispered to Nigel, "You're setting a bad precedent here." Anora could see that her youngest, most headstrong daughter would require the firmest hand, certainly someone stronger than Mrs. Hastings, though she was fine for Eleanor.

They made quite a procession through the dark streets, though there were few awake to see the spectacle: Nigel and Buddy on his left, Moira in his arms, his courtier Owain behind him, the queen beside Nigel holding Leanora's hand, and Erlina carrying her son, all surrounded by a large contingent of guards, who cleared the way before them and watched behind them. Lea had declared that she was too big to be carried, and got in a dig at her youngest sister that she was only out of bed at that hour because she felt it was her duty to see her father off. Moira shrugged and agreed it was her duty, and hers as well.

Only Eleanor had declined, much to the relief of Mrs. Hastings, after giving her father a tight farewell hug. "Just because Moira's a big baby she gets her way? I'm too tired. Papa already said goodbye, and he said he'll be back! You don't trust him?" Moira said nothing in reply, and her pale cheeks flushed crimson as she looked down, away from Eleanor's eyes, who was the only one who could shame her like that.

Teagan and Bella had gone aboard hours ago with the young Orlesian maid, and had gone to bed in the royal cabin once she had been settled in her own. Both came out on deck when they heard the queen and her children were seeing the ship off. After a few final kisses, Nigel handed Moira to one of the sturdiest guards, who he knew would be able to to hold onto a struggling child. He ruffled her dark, curly hair. "I'll write you all every day if I can, and send my posts from the ship as soon as I arrive." He made Moira promise to watch over her sisters in his absence. He kissed Gerard's warm cheek, then Erlina's, then Leanora's, and finally turned to the queen. "Take care of my pups, love. Maker willing, I'll be back before you know it."

Anora was quiet as they walked back to the castle through the chill night air after they watched the ship cast off. She had allowed them to stay until it was nearly out of sight. She caught Leanora brushing away a few tears and stifling a yawn, though she put up a brave front. The girl was already as much a servant to duty as she had been at her age, and perhaps more so. She had never favored her natural children over their elder sister. She had accepted Lea as her own without question from the first moment she had gazed into her tiny eyes when she had been first born and placed into her arms, as if she herself had just given birth to her. The bond was sealed when the baby gazed back. She thought perhaps it had been easier to bond with her because she wasn't exhausted from hours of labor, as she had been with the twins, each of whom she had held just long enough to name before passing them off to the sisters attending her.

Yet she was a pragmatic woman, and she knew that it would be short-sighted not to prepare all three of her daughters to rule in case the unthinkable should happen to Leanora. Even with prayers for their safety, even growing up in the palace with the best food, clean water, warm fires, and everything they needed to assure a long, healthy life, there was always a risk of disease or accident. A cousin of hers had been killed from a fall from a horse when she was a girl, and Anora herself had been very sick with a morbid throat infection that had killed several children in Gwaren when she was not much older than Leanora. Thus, she would groom all three of her daughters to rule, for the good of Ferelden.

While she had other advisers who could fill the void left by her husband's absence if he didn't return, there were few who could help her deal with things like Moira's next furious temper tantrum. The girl would have to be brought under control, and quickly. It went without saying she would have to make amends to Rose for the bite, and to the others for her behavior. So like her grandfather she was, determined to have her own way, with no regard for the consequences, yet she knew the girl must be made to understand there were consequences, something she feared her father forgot at the end. How she missed him at times like this.

There was more for her to do than to train them in affairs of state and see that they were properly educated. Without Nigel, she would have to arrange suitable marriages for them on her own as well. Banns from all over the kingdom were already trying to arrange for their sons to be squired in Denerim, which she knew was in hope of their sons someday catching the eye of the crown princess or one of her sisters. It wasn't until a few years ago that she began to understand how much her father and King Maric had pushed her and Cailan together, though at the time, caught up in the emotions of their budding love, they were both blissfully unaware of their parents' machinations.

She had learned recently from one of Maric's old courtiers that there had been suggestions by the then ambassador from Orlais, and also by some Ferelden nobles, that a union between Cailan and Empress Celeste would greatly benefit both nations. The courtier told her that it was Maric himself who nipped that suggestion in the bud by informing the ambassador in no uncertain terms that while Ferelden had forgiven most of Orlais' transgressions, Ferelden had certainly not forgotten, and was not going to become an Orlesian colony again. That ambassador had returned to Orlais on the next tide. It was a week after that when King Maric had sent her father a letter requesting that Anora come to Denerim to serve as a courtier. Maric himself told her before his death that his feckless young son needed a strong _Fereldan_ woman as his queen, to stabilize his kingdom, and help guide him. She now would find a strong Fereldan man to rule beside her daughter.

Her three daughters were so young, and there was so much to teach them. In addition to teaching each how to govern competently, she had much to teach them about being on guard against those who would curry favor or try to manipulate them for their own ends. Her parents had always had one another to turn to until she lost her mother, but by then she was old enough that she didn't need direction, as she had long accepted the future laid out for her. If her girls' father got in over his head in Orlais, which she could see happening now that she knew more about him, she would not only lose a trusted adviser, but also her partner. Now that he was gone, she was beginning to appreciate how much they had become a team. Though he was barely out of sight, she already felt as if half of her was missing.

"Alone at last!" sighed Anora a few days later, as the door to her bedchamber closed. She brushed out her hair then got into bed and adjusted her pillows, and stretched out on her side. She had dismissed her ladies after allowing them to help her undress, take down her hair, and help her into her nightgown. The brushing of her hair was something Nigel had done whenever he could. "Strange how it is our little acts of intimacy that I miss the most," she murmured.

She glanced at the door that led to his chambers, and then the one that led to her sitting room, reminding herself that she wasn't ever truly alone; there was a solid door separating her from her courtiers on night duty, and her guards. Given their current state of alert, it occurred to her that anyone who knew she was alone might take advantage of the situation to plot an assassination, entering through her husband's vacant chambers. She punched her pillow, turned on her other side, and muttered, "I'm beginning to sound like my father!"

At the same time though, as she lay there she had to admit her father's paranoia had led to the discovery of more than one plot against King Maric. She reminded herself that a stopped clock is still right twice a day as she slipped out of bed and placed the back of a sturdy chair under the door handle to prevent it from being opened. "That's better, and tomorrow I'll have his guards stationed there again."

She got back into bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to sleep. Thinking of privacy, her mind drifted to a discussion she had with the previous Orlesian ambassador, who had seemed astonished, and outraged, to hear that Anora's ladies didn't remain in her bedchamber all night, ready to serve her every need. He had told Anora that the Empress Celene was never left unattended, and was never expected to do anything for herself. He concluded with a note of condescension, "That is what courtiers and servants are for, no?"

Having found him more annoying than most of the Orlesians she had encountered, Anora had decided to put him to the test and had asked him if that included attending his empress when she used the privy. He had replied indignantly as his eyebrows seemed to disappear into his hairline, "But of course! Her Serenity must not soil her hands!"

Anora recalled how she had smiled innocently and asked, "Never _ever_? Surely there are _some_ circumstances which cry out for privacy, no?" She wanted to add, "Such as when she is throwing her legs wide apart for her very many lovers," but was proud of herself for having held her tongue.

She chuckled remembering how he flushed scarlet and stammered that there were thick curtains, of course, to give his empress a semblance of privacy, but his short answer was "No, not even then." He had written to his court and begged to be reassigned shortly after that, stating Ferelden was simply too barbaric for his refined tastes. Good riddance, as far as she was concerned. She wanted to send the latest ambassador packing as well, but at the same time she wanted her close by where she and her spies could keep an eye on her.

That caused Anora to consider how far things had really gone between the Serene Empress and Cailan, knowing her late husband as well as she had. It had bothered him when they were first married that the guards and her courtiers might hear their lovemaking if they were stationed too close to the door, or worse, that they might even be listening at the door. Such a thought hadn't even occurred to her, but perhaps he knew them better. He always had made sure the door was locked. How very different was her second husband, who didn't particularly care who might be listening. When they became lovers in earnest two years after their marriage, he seemed to enjoy making her cry out in pleasure, so she had kept a pillow at hand to bite. She smiled, thinking about him. A pillow, or his shoulder―he liked that, and so did she.

Her Mabari pup whimpered at her from her basket, interrupting her reverie, and Anora leaned over and picked her up. She petted her head and chuckled as the pup wiggled her stub of a tail and rubbed her nose against her. "Did I wake you? Are you cold? I know you miss your mother and litter mates, but you are not supposed to be a lapdog, my dear. You are to be my fierce mabari protector."

The pup replied with an puppy's version of a fierce growl, followed by a happy yip and a wiggle of her backside that melted her mistress. "Very good! Very frightening! Oh, very well. Nigel told me your father slept with him too when he was a pup, and Buddy has fought darkspawn, so I suppose there's no harm." The pup yipped again and nuzzled her.

"I still need to find you a name. I was going to call you Celene, but I've decided that is too ugly a name for such a sweet girl." The pup responded by licking her fingers before circling and settling in beside her. Anora smiled at her. "Just don't pee on the bed." The pup gave her an indignant look then settled back down.

Anora pet the pup gently and sighed again, thinking of her husband and his Mabari, haunted again by the thought that there was a chance she would never see either of them again if it all went wrong in Orlais. The thought that she could be widowed again weighted heavy on her. It had been such a tremendous shock the first time; even though she and Cailan had grown apart, she still had loved him. No one had imagined the terrible losses they would suffer at Ostagar, or that he wouldn't come riding back triumphantly in his golden armor, full of tales of glory gained fighting at the side of the Gray Wardens. Her duty to their people coupled with the knowledge that too many others had lost their loved ones there as well were the only things that got her through those first long months. She had discovered that keeping busy was the best balm for her grief, and so she had thrown herself into serving her people, as much as her father had allowed.

If something were to happen to Nigel, she didn't think she had the will to take another husband, not that she would have any need to remarry, thank The Maker. The kingdom was securely in her hands, and she had her heir and two spares, though the thought of raising them alone seemed as daunting of a task as guiding Ferelden through the Blight. If she were to marry again, it would have to be for a more compelling reason than reproduction, or a strong political alliance; it would have also have to be to someone who would be a good father to her children.

Yet she didn't look forward to returning to the life of celibacy she had led since the twins' birth until fairly recently either, and part of the reason for her sleepless state dawned on her. It rankled her to acknowledge that she had the same base needs as everyone else, even though after giving birth to the twins, she swore she would never go through that again and banished her husband from her bed, claiming that it was on the orders of the Grand Cleric. But the memory of the hours of pain had faded, while her desire hadn't.

Yet she could hardly slip out to a brothel as he could, or have an affair with a guard or a friend at court to satisfy mutual needs. The thought made her resentful, though she chided herself, as it wasn't his fault. She blushed at the thought of relieving her urges herself as Nigel had suggested with a casual shrug, as if he were suggesting something no different than cleaning one's teeth. He didn't believe her, but she had never done that, and couldn't be persuaded that it was no different than when he touched her that way. Nor did she have any interest in taking a woman as a lover, as he had also suggested just as casually. She found this change in herself strange, and a more than a little frightening.

When she and Cailan had married, they shared a passion for the first two years. She wiped away a tear thinking back to those days, recalling how he used to send her notes daily to let her know that looking at her was driving him mad, speculating on the color of her small clothes, and telling her he couldn't wait for the day's duties to end so they could be alone. She didn't mind too much after a few months when he began going out some nights to carouse with his courtiers, because it allowed her a good night's sleep after a hard day's work, ruling over his kingdom. But a day came after a few years that he made an offhand comment over breakfast that she should have been pregnant a dozen times over by now. It stung, as if he had slapped her. She still remembered her curt reply that stung him as well: "It's not as if we haven't been trying, nor that I can do anything about it, can I?"

He had realized at once how cruel his words sounded and begged her forgiveness, and had her favorite roses delivered to her at dinner, but the subject was out there; the damage was done. Their relationship was never the same. Month after month continued to pass without a child, and she knew he had grown resentful, though he hid it, most of the time. Towards the end, they rarely shared breakfast or much else other than their official duties, and no more than twice a month would he send a terse written notice that he wished to attend her in her bedchamber. When he did, it was for nothing more than a perfunctory copulation performed in the fleeting hope of finally producing an heir. He would finish, thank her, and leave her alone with her guilt, for it never occurred to either of them that their failure to produce an heir could be his fault.

The beginning of her second marriage had the same tone as her first, joining into a politically expedient union and taking a relative stranger into her bed. She had felt sympathy for those of her subjects who found themselves entering into arranged marriages. At least she had gotten to know Nigel before the wedding, and didn't meet him for the first time on the Chantry steps on their wedding day, which was the fate of so many of her subjects. She also had never forgotten the thrill of his rescue of her from Howe's estate, when he laid down his life for her. She remembered how he had surrendered his swords on the condition that Ser Cauthrien let his companions go, claiming they knew nothing of his attack on Howe, and he had specifically pointed to her, in her ill-fitting stolen armor, and said, "Especially the little one there, I beg you, Ser. He's only a boy."

Though her second husband was true to his vows and attentive for the first year, she had made it clear she wasn't interested in his frequent attempts at exploring her body with his fingers and his tongue, though he had always protested doing so would make the act more interesting, and fun, for both of them. Had she even allowed him to see her naked during that first year, or allowed more than one candle to be lit? At best she had allowed him to fumble around under her nightgown until he was finished, and to her shame, too often that was after he had warmed her up with one of his exquisite foot or back massages. She had wondered back then if he had used fantasies of his Antivan lover as an aid. She hadn't cared, as her mind had been on the next day's agenda as she waited for him to finish and return to his own chamber.

It hadn't been much beyond a year that she began to see that same trapped look in his eyes that he didn't bother to hide, as Cailan had. He had soon after informed her that he would continue to perform his duty to her and the kingdom, but that he would like to visit _The Pearl _to fulfill his _needs_, making the distinction painfully clear. Though he agreed to hire only men, per her request, her spies had informed her that wasn't always the case. He had a favorite there, an elven courtesan whose specialty wasn't sex, but rather giving her shemlen clients a thorough lashing they both craved. However, now that she thought about it, his back rarely bore the marks that one would think he should have gotten from hiring her once a month or more. Anora thought that could have been due to a liberal application of the same healing salve that he had used on her. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to sit comfortably for a week. His pale body certainly had other scars aplenty from his campaign against the darkspawn. What else would he have been doing with her then, unless...

"That sneaky bastard!" The pup raised her head and looked at her, then lay back down. It occurred to her that must have been when he could slip away to meet with the mysterious masked Ser Wolf of Rivain, whom Nigel had introduced her, Erlina, and her spies to, and placed in her service, the morning before his ship had sailed. Ser Wolf wasn't the only one wearing a mask. It seemed that in the last several days before he left, her husband had been removing his own masks, only to reveal another one under it, just as she thought she was finally seeing him. How many layers were there yet to uncover? What would she find when all the masks were gone, and did she want to face the naked truth?

She recalled that day her prince returned from Amaranthine, after having again defeated darkspawn, and getting revenge on Howe's minions for both of them. Letters had been sent during his tenure as Warden Commander, with a coded account of who Howe's co-conspirators were, rooted out with Ser Wolf's assistance. Later missives told of how they had been dealt with, all done with her tacit approval. For if they could join Howe's coup of their neighbors and cousins in Highever, what would have stopped them from thinking they might also gain by helping him seize her throne? She had grown certain that was Howe's real intention, once he had removed her and placed the blame for his plots on her father. Howe had been far too ambitious a man to settle for the prize of Denerim, or Highever either. She suspected he planned for those to go to his children, but the crown was his prize, and if he couldn't share the crown with her through a forced marriage, she was certain he would have had her killed, and placed the blame on the Gray Wardens.

Howe might have gotten away with it if not for her husband's timely intervention, and they both later agreed that the Amaranthine traitors who had aided him couldn't be trusted not to rise up again, or help the next overly-ambitious traitor to come along. Her prince had returned in triumph, bearing roses, along with a scroll tucked in the center containing a list of the dead traitors. She would never forget the sight of him riding up on his black charger, and the cocky leer he gave her as he reined his horse before her balcony and saluted her. She smiled at him and blew him a kiss, then had dismissed the court. They met in her chambers immediately, where they stayed for the rest of the day and into the next morning.

It wasn't so much that her second husband had suddenly awakened a deeply buried desire in her, though to give him credit, he tried his best, especially in the past few days. Thinking again about what they had done in his secret room before he caught his ship made her cheeks burn. No, she had discovered that the most erotic thing in his room wasn't all his devices, but instead was her husband, ready to serve, and ready to do whatever it took to protect her and her kingdom.


	14. The Storm

Chapter 13 The Storm

Usual disclaimer: I don't own most of the characters in this story, other than the side characters. The rest are owned by Bioware and others. However, I do claim this version of their Cousland noble boy and his dog as my own.

"It that sunlight?" Teagan turned over onto his side towards the row of windows on the other side of the cabin, through which light was streaming in.

Bella raised her head from her pillow sleepily and pushed her hair from her eyes. "I believe it is!"

Teagan slipped his arm around her and pulled her in for a good-morning kiss. "At long last. We've had nothing but cold, drizzle, and damp since we got out to sea." After another kiss he smiled at her, stroked her cheek, and added, "Good morning, my love. I suppose we should get up and make ourselves presentable."

"Good morning, love. I suppose we should." Bella chuckled throatily. "Pity though." She gave him another kiss and snuggled in close.

Teagan closed his eyes and held her, caressing her strawberry blond curls, and then his hand traveled down to massage the back of her neck. "Well, I suppose if you would _rather_ we stay abed, I must endeavor to do what I can to please my wife."

She looked at the windows and sighed, and pulled herself away reluctantly. "You were right the first time. If we don't get up now, we won't, for at least another hour. 'Tis not like we have anywhere else to go until we reach Val Royeaux. This bed will be here waiting for us."

He reluctantly let her go. "Yes, it will, and I don't want you growing tired of me either." He fished around on the floor for his small clothes, pulled them on, stood, and yawned. "Let's stretch our legs and get something to eat. I feel like eating something solid today. How about you?" He walked over to the beaten copper basin and poured a pitcher of water into it. He was about to splash some on his face and chest, but he turned and grinned at Bella. "Ladies first?"

She wrapped herself in the sheet, still shy about showing her body to her new husband, and joined him at the basin, where he handed her a cloth. She got it wet and paused, arching an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to watch?"

He grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows. "Well, now that you mention it, yes? But if you would rather I didn't, I'll go pick out something to wear." She was blushing, a warm rosy pink that rapidly spread across her neck and chest. It was like a new dawn. He hoped it wouldn't be too soon that they would become so familiar with one another that she would no longer blush like that under his gaze.

Bella bit her lip and thought for a moment. "No, I'm being silly." She dropped the sheet and handed him a cloth as well. "I think I heard Byron leave your clothes outside the door very early this morning. I'm sure Mrs. G or Iolanthe has something laid out already for me too, but..."

She glanced at the door that led to the small room intended for the whichever of the queen's ladies-in-waiting might accompany her, which was now occupied by Mrs. Gallagher and the Orleisan girl, since she and Teagan were staying in the royal suite. The prince had insisted they take it for their honeymoon, though that meant his men Owain and Ianto shared a room with Byron, while the prince shared the captain's quarters. Bella hadn't felt right about that at first, though the royal chamber was so comfortable and so beautifully decorated that she could hardly believe they were on a ship, and she loved the privacy it gave them. Except for the slight sea-sickness, their honeymoon had been perfect.

Bella resumed washing. "I was thinking 'tis a pity I didn't bring some of my work clothes, or that I can't fit into your clothes."

He turned his eyes away when she turned hers to him as they talked, out of habit. "Mine?" He felt himself blushing as well, which was made worse because he felt silly for blushing at all.

She splashed water over her face, head, and chest. "Her Majesty―I can't get over her wearing the prince's clothes to the docks that night we left, and she still managed to look like a queen. A regal rogue, mind you, but it worked on her. Then again, I bet she would look elegant in anything she wears, even a burlap sack." She sighed and resumed washing. "Beautiful women are like that."

He nodded in agreement, but being a wise husband already, prefaced his response. "You should know, being the most beautiful woman _I_ know. Yet I agree, Anora certainly does carry herself well. She has a sense of style, and a hmm..." He tapped his chin with his index finger as he struggled to think of the right word. "Presence, that's it, wherever she is, and no matter what she is doing, and she always has. She might set a new precedent by the time we return, if she has continued to wear Nigel's things."

He continued bathing. "I would lend you something of mine, but you would swim in my clothes because I'm taller, and you're so slender. But then so is Nigel. Other than the length, you also might be able to wear something of his; his men certainly brought enough baggage on board for him, considering he said he was going to pack light so as to leave room for purchases in Orlais, though I know his formal armor alone takes up one trunk." He turned to look at his bride, radiant in the morning light. "You're also more slender than Her Majesty, and I recall that his trousers were rather snug through the hips on her. I think it would work. We could ask him if you could borrow something."

Bella gasped. "Oh, I couldn't do that! I would feel silly, Teagan. I couldn't!" Bella blushed again, unaware of the effect it was having on her husband.

Teagan caught his breath and had to look away. "I'll ask then. I'm sure he could part with one change of clothes, so that you might move about the ship more freely. I'm only afraid of the effect that the sight of your lovely legs and bottom encased in form fitting black leggings might have on the sailors." The thought was having quite an effect on him as well, as he felt his sex growing hard. He splashed more cold water on himself, or he knew they wouldn't be leaving the cabin anytime soon.

Bella chuckled. "I think some of them would just as soon see your bottom encased in tight black leggings."

He winked and used a clean cloth to rinse himself off. "Known many sailors, have you?" He decided the safest course was to change the subject, and he rubbed his chin. "I should have Byron shave me, but I'm not comfortable with the motion of the ship yet, and I don't think he is either. He's kept to his bed more than we have."

"Don't they have a barber on board? They must, judging by the men on the crew, unless they all got shaved in Denerim." She began to dry herself off and then knelt beside her trunk to take out some small clothes. "I wouldn't mind helping out too. I do know a bit about sailing, though I haven't sailed on anything much bigger than the ship's boats hanging outside those windows. But I know my way around ropes and knots. I would like to make myself useful."

Teagan walked over to the door and retrieved his clothes, hanging on a hook just outside. It crossed his mind that his beautiful bride would never become like many noble women, such as his sister-in-law Isolde, having her lady's maid bring her breakfast in bed every morning, waiting to be dressed and bathed as if she were helpless, and spending her days reading novels, arranging the flowers, and embroidering, and at the most, helping the Chantry with various charity projects. He actually could see the latter in her case, but he saw Bella taking an active part in ruling their arling. She was more like Alfstanna Cousland or the queen than like his sister-in-law. That was fine by him, if that was what she wanted. "It wouldn't hurt to ask him, my love."

The deck, lit by morning sun, was blindingly bright in contrast to the their cabin. Teagan held his hand over his eyes to shield them and blinked as he stepped through the door that led to the officers' quarters and the gallery. He steadied himself against the door frame then looked at the sky, where the morning sun shone brightly.

"Teagan!" Nigel hailed him from the deck above on the royal galleon, where he was taking a turn at the wheel under the watchful instruction of the first mate. "I see you've come up for air, old man!" Buddy lay beside him on his back, exposing his belly to the warmth of the sun.

Teagan turned towards the familiar voice, squinting to make out the familiar shape of the prince. He grinned at his friend. "I'm not _that_ old, Nigel. Besides, being with Bella makes me feel like a pup."

"Well, I didn't want a pup. Too much nervous energy." Bella stepped through behind him, slipping her arm around his waist and kissing his cheek. "He's certainly neither that old either, Your Highness. More like a fine hound in his prime." She also shielded her eyes from the sun as they climbed the steps to reach the prince and was wishing she had worn the hat Mrs. Gallagher had set out for her. "What a lovely day. Shall we take a turn about the deck, _husband_?"

Teagan slipped his arm through hers, still marveling that this beautiful woman was his wife. He stared out across the vast expanse of open water around them and suppressed a shudder. He found it unnerving that there was nothing to be seen but water in any direction he looked, a feeling he had held since his first journey to The Marches when he was a small boy. But it would be over soon. "Yes, _wife_, let's take advantage of the sun and take a tour of the ship. It looks like more clouds are starting to form yonder, dark ones too." He pointed at the far horizon. "We're probably in for a few more days of rain before we reach Orlais."

The newlyweds had rarely left the royal cabin for the first two days of the voyage, but not entirely for the expected reason of celebrating their recent union. They slept fitfully the night the ship set sail due to the constant rocking motion, but they had made good use of their sleeplessness. Their stomachs were also queasy at first, which they had found was also improved by remaining in bed. So they had, other than coming out for light meals or Mrs. Gallagher's ginger tea. In addition, a light rain had begun to fall after their departure, which had continued as a steady drizzle until the last night.

The first mate, an old gray haired sea dog named Gunder, turned his experienced eyes away from his pupil and towards the horizon. He scowled upon seeing the low dark clouds in the sky, as if they were unwelcome visitors who had just showed up on his doorstep, and his scowl would send them packing. He opened his spyglass and examined them. "Aye, could be right, Ser, and that there has the looks to be more than a common storm. We best set our sails to try to outrun it. Excuse me, Yer Highness."

After a few minutes spent muttering to himself while studying his sextant, he adjusted the wheel and corrected their course, leaving Nigel at the helm with instructions not to deviate from the course he set, and then he began barking orders to the crew to raise the sails, on his way to find the captain.

"I'd accompany you two, but it looks like I have my orders. Then again, I'm guessing you probably don't _really_ want my company now, do you?" Nigel smirked at them.

Teagan chuckled. "Since you asked, not really. We'll see enough of one another over cards in the officers' galley tonight if we have another spate of rain, I expect." He and Bella waved and walked down to the lower deck, trying to stay out of the way of the sailors.

Yet despite the best efforts of the crew to outrun the approaching storm, it caught up with the ship early that evening. An "all hands" order had been called by the captain, and the crew had been frantically rushing around the ship, tying down the cannons and anything in danger of falling overboard, or anything big enough to cause damage to the ship if it pitched into a wall. The ship's carpenter and his mates labored in the hold to ready a spare mast in case they lost one of the four. The cook made sure her huge iron pots were secured, and that the oven doors were sealed. The crew would eat the stew she was preparing for supper early, knowing they might not have another hot meal for days.

In the officers' galley, the captain's steward Ned and the cabin boy Bobby, an active, bright eyed boy of nine making his first sea voyage, made sure the fine porcelain bearing the royal seal and the silver and gold goblets and dining utensils were all securely stowed away. Part of Ned's responsibility was maintaining an inventory of those, and he exclaimed proudly to Bobby that he had never misplaced so much as a pickle fork during his tenure. Ned was pleased that the lad knew his numbers well and could help with the inventory, which was due to the queen hiring teachers to work in the orphanages in Ferelden, where he had been recruited by the captain.

However, Ned didn't explain that the real reason for his success was that the ship was completed shortly after the birth of the twin princesses, so the queen had sailed on her only once, just a few miles out to sea and back, and her prince hadn't sailed on their flagship either, until now. The highest ranking nobles who had sailed on her thus far had been the Arl and Arlessa of Denerim, on a shopping trip to Orlais. Other than that, trade delegations had been ferried on her around Thedas, but no one besides the Arl and Arlessa had used the royal chamber, or the royal dishes and utensils. Ned's biggest job so far, besides taking inventory, was dusting the royal chamber, leaving him plenty of time to see to the needs of the captain and officers.

With his inventory completed, Ned showed the boy, as well as Owain, Byron, and Mrs. Gallagher, how to secure their masters' and their own trunks to iron rings fastened in the walls, so that they wouldn't slide around the rooms. He explained as they worked how most injuries or deaths in a storm occurred because of a heavy object someone forgot about sliding into or falling on someone. That was why sailors kept their possessions in heavy canvas sea bags, which would be hung along the walls in the crew's quarters. The three of them helped push the tables and chairs in the galley to one side so they could be secured with hempen ropes. Iolanthe had been keeping to the room she shared with Mrs. Gallagher, but she also came out to offer her assistance, glad to have something to do besides try to tend to the new arlessa, or brood over her fate once she arrived in Orlais.

Taking advantage of having so much help, Ned led his crew into the royal cabin to secure the windows there and fasten them securely with battens, to help keep water out of the ship, then through into the observation gallery that extended over the back of the ship so that they could close the shutters over those windows. Ned explained that the same was being done over every porthole and cannon port as well, and how Captain Harkness and his officers would personally inspect an assigned section of each deck to ensure that everything was secure, and then the captain would send someone else inspect each section again. "The real danger," Ned explained, "Comes from storms that rise up suddenly, leaving the crew little time to prepare, but that's not the case this time."

"It's a wonder that people travel by sea at all!" Mrs. Gallagher exclaimed, as she lowered herself on a cushioned bench built into the wall to catch her breath. Byron wiped his brow and sat beside her.

Ned tried to alleviate not only her concern, but also the fear in his young cabin boy's eyes. "It's not all that bad most of the time, madam, and most times 'tis much faster than over land. 'Tis just in the late spring and summer that's the worst, and that ain't even every year neither. I'm old enough that I've weathered many a storm, but a sailor can go years without bein' caught in a big one. Most of the time, it can be a pretty boring occupation. We have plenty of idle off-hours to mend our gear, or whittle, play cards or dice, or read." He took a seat on the bench as well, now that his work was finished.

Mrs. Gallagher took a drink from a wooden mug of water that Iolanthe had gotten for her. She thanked the young woman, who then sat on the floor beside her. She smiled kindly at the girl, who worried her because she had been so quiet so far, then looked up at Ned. "It makes sense to bring a book or two to pass the time. I hadn't really thought about it, but I was thinking just this morning that I wish I had."

Ned replied sagely, "Somethin' to remember for the next time. Them who aren't on duty gather in the crew's quarters, and someone's often readin' a book aloud. Them what can't read gather around to listen to them what can, and some sailors learn to read by the time they return home, if they have a mind for it. But there's always a quiet corner on the ship too, if you want privacy. On deck, there's singin' and dancin' and playin' pipes and drums, as much as for exercise as for entertainment."

Bobby grinned at them, revealing an uneven mix of first and second teeth. "Aye, I'm learnin' to play the hornpipe and dance a jig!"

Ned smiled fondly at the boy. "Most sailors spend their pay within a day of arrivin' at a port, except for what the smart ones have the captain's purser save for when they get back to home. You probably noticed the shops and stands set up near the docks, hopin' to get a share of our coin before it gets spent at the brothels and taverns. It's like that in most ports. Smart sailors take the time to peruse their wares for things they will need once they set sail again, oh, like pipe weed from all over Thedas, clothes, and aye, even books, and also sell off things they picked up at other ports, or things they've made to pass the time. Like pipes, both kinds."

"Or like these." He opened a cabinet and took out chest, then removed a half finished russet mabari standing at attention that he was carving out of a piece of Nevarran cinnamon wood. He offered it to her. "I spend a lot of my free time whittlin'. Many sailors do, so there's always someone selling pieces of wood, most of it local, but sometimes imported from all over the world. I'll probably sell this one along with the others I already made when we make port in Orlais."

Mrs. Gallagher turned it around in her hands, impressed by the detail he captured on the face. It was so lifelike, she expected it to bark. She showed Iolanthe then passed it on to Byron. "It's beautiful, Ned."

Owain agreed as it passed by him, seated on the floor near Iolanthe. "I should tell the prince about it. Princess Moira is very fond of mabaris, and I know he would buy it from you in a heartbeat."

Byron turned the dog over in his hands. "Indeed, quality work, ser. You were saying there are book shops at the docks?"

Ned nodded and took the dog back, wrapping it carefully in a wool cloth before he handed them some he had completed: an ebony wood cat arching its back, a dolphin rising on a wave, an otter, and a rearing horse carved from white heartwood. They were what Ned considered the best of his menagerie, and he had even more he hadn't brought out, because he didn't consider those his best.

"Aye, ser, there always be at least one bookseller dockside in every port I've visited, and I've been all over. Mind you, there ain't too much in the way of fancy books bound in fine leather, like them what's in the captain's study, but there's always plenty of tales of adventure and romance to be found, and cheaply if you don't mind some spills and smudges, because the book sellers take trades as well. Ofttimes 'tis not complete books at all, but chapters, published as soon as they are writ and printed. I'll show you what's on board, though there won't be much readin' if that storm hits. 'Tis not a time to be lightin' candles or lanterns."

"Any Nevarran romances among those?" Byron inquired hopefully. Owain looked hopeful as well.

Ned winked at them. "There are some, aye. Lads like tales of adventure best though, especially to read aloud. Right now the lads are taking turns readin' chapters of a book called _Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder_. It's bein' writ by a dwarven merchant prince who lives in Kirkwall, name of Varric Tethras. Those get read so often, some of the crew knows 'em by heart, not that they won't read 'em again. About the only reason to look forward to a stop in Kirkwall is to see if there's another chapter out, and in the hopes of finding a missing chapter. No one ever seems to have Chapter 11."

Mrs. Gallagher looked concerned. "Are things still that grim in Kirkwall? We heard about the Qunari attack a few years ago, of course. The arl had thought of us leaving the ship there to travel by coach into The Marches, to introduce his bride to his family there, but I heard him say that after he consulted with the captain, he changed his mind."

Ned stuffed his pipe and lit it, the match bringing a flash of light into the now darkened room, knowing he wouldn't have much chance to have another until the storm passed. "Aye, always was a grim place, with those huge slave statues linin' the entrance to the harbor, but last time we dropped off an ambassador and took on cargo, the head templar had gone and appointed herself acting Viscount, after them Qunari murdered the last one. You surely have heard that it was a Ferelden lad name of Hawke who killed their king in single combat? He's now called 'The Champion,' and rumor is he's a likely candidate for viscount, if not for the templars. The place always did have a queer feel to it though. Somethin' unwholesome there. Sets the hairs on the back of my neck on edge, just bein' there."

He grimaced, trying to think of a word. "Like something just ain't right. But now, with templars at the dock glowerin' at everyone, inspectin' every ship for stowaways or apostates, 'tis all we can do to move the cargo as fast as we can so we can leave. The more hearty souls run out to the few merchants, with a shopping list and their own and their mates' money, and fill their lists as quick as they can. Few dare to venture outside the docks. Not many are even tempted by the handful of trollops who brave the templars to work the quay. They'd rather make do without or take matters into their own hand, if you get my meanin'." He flushed, remembering he was speaking not only to ladies, but also in the presence of the boy, who was hanging on his every word.

"Have some, it will calm your nerves." He took another deep puff off his pipe, then offered it around, ending with the boy. Byron, Iolanthe, and the boy took him up on his offer. When they had finished the pipe, he stood, tapped it out and put it away. "We might as well get somethin' to eat. Keep a secure bucket nearby, and it the sea gets too rough, there's no shame in lashin' yourselves to your beds."

Teagan and Bella watched the ominous clouds approaching, hanging thick and dark gray in contrast to the cheerful blue of the rest of the sky, as if there were somehow two skies. They tried to stay out of the sailors' way, not wanting to retreat to their cabin until they had to. But as the sailors lowered all but the lowest sails on the masts, Teagan observed, "That's it then. She's not going to outrun it, and now I believe they'll turn the ship and sail into the wind to ride it out. It just occurred to me we never did get anything to eat either."

Bella took his hand and led him away from the rail. "We better forage what we can then, and take away some too. We might be in for a few more days of being cabin bound. Yet somehow, I can't convince myself that being alone with you for a few more days would be such a bad thing."

Teagan put his arm around her waist, and met her lovely grey eyes. "Me either."

Nigel had been at the wheel for hours, and was beginning to think Gunder had forgotten about him, which was not far from the truth. He was feeling the effects of the gnawing hunger from the taint, but he knew he dare not leave his post until someone came to relieve him, and everyone was too busy for him to send for the first mate. He had been able to reach his water flask with one hand, which he had finished, but that gave him a new problem. He shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

Sensing his discomfort, Buddy woofed at him then went off in search of the first mate, who was wondering why the ship hadn't been turned into the wind yet. He was then reminded who he had left at the wheel by the sight of the large mabari stalking towards him. He returned quickly with the hound behind him, woofing at him as if he was scolding him.

Nigel muttered, "Oh, thank the Maker," as the first mate apologized and took the wheel, turning it slowly so that the ship turned 45 degrees. Nigel wasted no time in relieving himself off the back of the deck, out of the wind. Buddy resisted the urge to do the same on the first mate's leg, and instead stood on his hind legs, with his forelegs on the rail, copying his master. "Come on, Buddy. If we can't be of any more use, we might as well get below and get something to eat."

The sea began to churn. Anyone but the most experienced sailors, the captain, and the first mate were sent below decks to ride out the storm in their cabins, while the rest of the sailors and the royal marines assigned to the ship ate bowls of thick hearty stew, with a piece of hard tack first crumbled in the bottom of the bowl, then went to the hold to take turns manning the bilge pumps, if need be.

As the storm raged on, the ship would rise at times six feet or more on one wave, only to drop back just as far. She groaned and creaked, and pitched from side to side. It seemed to the inexperienced as if she would capsize or break apart at any moment. One of the masts crashed to the deck from the force of the storm, convincing everyone other than the experienced crew that their deaths were at hand, but it was the mizzen mast, and not the main mast. After examining it, Captain Harkness thought it could be salvaged, and he prayed that the didn't lose another.

Teagan and Bella passed much of the time lying in the middle of their bed in their dark chamber, though they kept a chamber pot in a wooden base close at hand. Teagan muttered, "This isn't exactly how I pictured spending the next day or two with you."

Bella lay her head on his chest, snuggling under his arm and trailing her nails lightly through his chest hair. She peeked up at her husband. "This may sound crazy. I don't believe I'm saying this, but I find this kind of exciting. A part of me wants to be out there, staring into the storm, feeling the wind and the rain pelt my skin."

Teagan leaned up on one elbow, intrigued. "And the other part?"

Bella chuckled throatily. "The other part wants to do something to get my mind off the storm." She ran her thumb across his nipple and stroked his calf with her foot, smiling at him. "I know, crazy, right?"

Being a man, Teagan smiled back at his bride. "Well then." He gave her a kiss then unlaced her nightdress. "Not crazy at all, love. It sounds like a good idea, though I don't know if I can get the proper leverage."

He kissed her and began to roll her over onto her back, but Bella stopped him with a hand on his chest. He looked at her questioningly, but he understood as she gently pushed him on his back instead. "Ah, yes. I see."

Their nightclothes flew off, and she straddled his hips, blushing at the look of raw desire on his face as he gazed at her nakedness. She was right, he saw right away, as she used the motion of the ship to ride him like a bucking horse.

Nigel, alone in the captain's cabin, felt useless in the crisis, as he didn't know enough about sailing to lend a hand to the exhausted captain, who had popped in just long enough to slip off his sodden great coat and slip on a lighter felted wool jacket. Nigel hung up the great coat for him so that the water could drip out of it. Left to himself again, he found that he was lonelier than he had ever imagined he would be, even worse than his time in Amerantine, because this time he missed his girls too. He had already written them a short letter each, and even one to his wife, and sealed it in an oilskin pouch to be passed on when they landed somewhere, or given to a passing ship, if it was heading to Denerim.

He missed his boys as well, Gerard, and his elf-blooded son Dahven. He cursed himself for not adding them to his will before he left, so that they might be taken care of if he died. Yet he didn't know which addition would have raised more eyebrows in Ferelden if he were to be lost at sea. Gerard was less of a worry because of Anora's strong bond of friendship with his mother. She would see he was well-cared for. He murmured aloud, "At least Dahven is also old enough to have begun his schooling at the Chantry. Whether he follows that path, or the Maker has intended another for him, at least we have tried to give him a good start."

Buddy whimpered an inquiry at him from under the bed. "Just thinking aloud, boy." He patted the bed, and the dog crawled out, shook the stiffness out of his limbs, then jumped up to join him. He stretched out beside the dog and petted him, taking comfort in the smell of his oldest companion, as the ship rose and fell on the waves. Nigel was overcome with pity for his furry friend. The poor dog really did not know what to make of this, and it was all he could do to keep his footing when he had to make use of the old oilcloth laid out in one corner for him. Nigel sat up. "Stay here in bed, my friend. I can at least help man the bilge pumps so that I'm not entirely useless."

Nigel took a blanket and tucked it in on the sides of the bed in such a way that the mabari would be held to it, yet could get out of it if need be, and slide back under. Buddy watched him work, then when he had finished, slid out from under the blanket, licked Nigel's face, and walked unsteadily for the door. Nigel joined him and gave him a fond pat as the mabari arched his back and stretched. "Very well then, I welcome your company, though I don't know how well you're going to be able to pump."

Iolanthe had drawn her legs up to her chest and clung to her bunk, biting her knuckles and stifling tears, though a particularly sharp drop would cause her to utter a terrified shriek. Mrs. Gallagher was one of the only people who seemed unfazed by the storm, though she took her steps very carefully about the cabin, always making sure she had something steady to hold on to. She murmured, "Oh, that _was_ a frightening one," though she didn't appear at all frightened to Iolanthe. In fact, she looked like she was enjoying the tossing of the ship. Besides her, only Owain seemed to be unaffected, though he too stayed close to the walls when he had popped in to check on them, deeply concerned after the first time he heard Iolanthe cry out.

Mrs. Gallagher opened the water bucket and got a cloth wet, then filled a mug, before closing it securely. She felt the ship rise, giving her a giddy sensation in the pit her stomach, then waited for the next drop before crossing back to the elven woman. She sat beside her. "Take some sips, my dear. You must not become dehydrated." She helped Iolanthe sit up and held the mug for her, also timing the next wave. She finished the mug herself as Iolanthe lay back down on her side, looking more terrified than ever, having held in her tears for so long that they now burst out in sobs.

The elderly woman used the cloth to wipe the young elf's brow and her face. "There, there, my dear. I saw the captain, and while he looks very tired, he doesn't look like he expects us to...I mean, the worst. It should be over soon, and then we'll be back on our way. But let those tears out, you'll feel better."

She held her like a child and let her cry, and then pushed the your elf's hair dark back from her face. "Such fine, pretty hair. If you like, I could brush it for you. It will give us something to do. From the sounds of it, my arl and arlessa are still celebrating their honeymoon." She chuckled, and the girl chuckled mirthlessly in reply. "Or we could talk, if you like." She smiled cheerfully.

After a few more waves that made her shriek again and even the solid Mrs. Gallagher gasp, Iolanthe took a handkerchief and blew her nose. She had been cautious of the old shem woman, whom she had considered her jailor when they set sail. Yet during the voyage, she had slowly been won over. She wasn't used to kindness from their kind, but recalled that the prince himself had promised to support her, which was more than her mistress had done. While her mistress, now her former mistress, had paid her well and treated her better than a mere servant, there had always been reminders not to get too full of herself, Madame even delivering a tight slap across her cheek when she thought a lesson was needed.

Even the Queen of Ferelden had condescended to speak a few words of encouragement to her as they boarded the ship. Iolanthe had been helping the new arlessa learn to dress, which was not such an impossible task as she had feared at first, and she had treated her cordially, as if she were no different from a human servant. The prince's man Owain had knocked on their door three times this day to see if he could do anything for them, and he looked at her specifically, not only the shem woman.

It was dawning on her that it wasn't so much that she had stumbled onto a group of good people, but that many of the people of Ferelden in general were better disposed to elves than those of Orlais, even though she still had been called "knife-ears" more than once during her travels. She thought about how different her life might have been if she had grown up there and gone to work in a household such as the one Mrs. Gallagher ran, rather than the one where she was trained in Jader. Even the alienage in Denerim looked nothing like those of her homeland. By royal decree, the streets had been cobbled, and the dangerous, ramshackle buildings had been replaced, so that if not for the towering _vehnadal_ tree and the absence of humans, she might have thought she was in a shem working class neighborhood.

Iolanthe needed to unburden her soul to someone. She had hoped for another chance to talk to the prince, but she hadn't found the right time, and he had kept to his quarters, studying books on Orlesian law he had brought with him, according to Owain. He had promised to introduce her to someone he knew in the Chantry once they arrived, but her burden was making her feel sick. Once as she had taken their chamber pots to empty over the side of the ship, she had been tempted to throw herself overboard as well. The old woman seemed sincere. Finally, she said softly, "Sometimes I'm certain this is just the latest sign in my life that The Maker is punishing me."

The old woman tutted at her as she reached into a bag hanging from one hooks for a brush. "Punishing you? Whatever for? I can't imagine you're old enough to have done anything to have brought the Maker's wrath upon your head, dear girl. I'm all ears, if you wish to talk. If not, we can talk about the price of shoes in Orlais while I brush your hair."

Iolanthe sat up. It didn't make any difference now anyway. She might be hanged, or at best be cast into a dank prison cell within a few weeks. Hanging seemed preferable to what she had heard of the dungeons where elves were thrown. So she told the elderly woman her story, which she had also shared a few days before with the prince. Mrs. Gallagher's face was a mask, impossible to read, and she said nothing as she listened to the girl's tale. She simply brushed her long silken hair over and over, and let her talk. Finally Iolanthe got to the day of Anton's accident. While she didn't confess that she had finished him off after his fall from his horse, she did tell her enough of what else had happened that day so that Mrs. Gallagher better understood her fear.

She set the brush aside and replied gently, "My dear, you have had a very hard life, but it's more a symptom of the sickness that has plagued our world, which caused The Maker to turn from us, rather than something you have done. It doesn't sound like you were an evil child, and I don't believe that the elvish people are deserving of punishment for something done by their ancestors either. Besides, that would mean that The Maker was punishing all of us so He could get at you, and I simply cannot believe that either, can you?"

Iolanthe blushed crimson. It hadn't occurred to her how prideful her fears sounded when she heard them voiced by someone else. Yet she hadn't told her the whole truth. She turned her large emerald eyes to the old woman. "Even if I was fighting with him, or if I did not help him as fast as I could have?"

Mrs. Gallagher sighed. "Even if that was the case, if The Maker were to involve Himself, I should think he would have done it much sooner, so as not to involve the rest of us. You could have been struck by lightning, or mauled by a bear or a manticore out in those woods. I don't think our Maker is that cruel or capricious, do you?" The young elf had no answer. Mrs. Gallagher stood up carefully, and replaced her brush.

She sat back on the bed after the ship's next drop. "Now I admit I'm not as religious a person as some, but perhaps this has all happened for a reason other than to punish you. It could have happened to give you the opportunity to reflect on your life. Or perhaps the storm happened because cyclones tend to form in the spring and summer, and it had nothing to do with you, or the prince, or anyone else. And perhaps Ser Anton's misadventure happened because he was a drunken lout. I overheard that was the prince's assessment after meeting him, and my arl had thought he might have had some brain affliction because of his behavior at the ball. So you see, while the death of someone in the prime of his life is sad, it's as likely due to his own misadventure than anything you did." She gave the elf a kiss on the forehead. "There are a good many worse people in Thedas than you."

Iolanthe blushed again and smiled at the grandmotherly advice. "That is true, Madame. Thank you for listening."

Mrs. Gallagher squeezed her hand. "Anytime, my dear girl."

Iolanthe looked around. "I've just noticed! The ship, she is not being tossed as badly."

Mrs. Gallagher waited a minute before she replied. "No, not nearly as badly." She stood and looked about their small cabin. "We best wait to be sure, but once we are, we can give this room a good cleaning, and then see to my arl and arlessa's. I'm sure they'd appreciate having their sheets freshened and their chamberpots emptied."

Iolanthe grinned at her, feeling as if a ten ton weight had been lifted off her chest. "If we can persuade them to leave their chamber long enough to clean it, that is."


	15. Any Port in a Storm

Chapter 15 Any Port in a Storm

or, Oh Captain, My Captain!

Usual disclaimer: The characters and the setting of this story do not belong to me. They belong to EaWare and other corporate people. However, I do feel free to use their Cousland noble boy and his dog as my own.

Warning: Contains mild slash. If you don't know what that is, look it up.

Inviting the Arl and Arlessa of Redcliffe along to Orlais at the last minute had complicated the sleeping arrangements aboard the ship. As the captain showed him to his cabin, Nigel explained, "I wouldn't feel right taking over your quarters, because that will bump you down to the first mate's cabin, who will be bumped down the bunk of one of the officers below him, and so on, until there is no place left to be bumped but to a hammock in some corner. In truth, your cabin could probably house not only the two of us, and Buddy, but my courtiers Owain and Ianto as well." Though not as large as the royal chamber, the captain's cabin was quite spacious.

Buddy looked up from a soft rug where he was lying at hearing his name, his tongue lolling out of the side of his making him look like he was laughing.

"You're right, five people probably could share this cabin, though the bed is only big enough for three or four at the most, if they lie close." Captain Harkness looked around as if picturing something, and muttered, "Why does that sound familiar?" He chuckled softly and added, "Very well then, I'll tell Gunder he keeps his cabin. But I insist, I can sleep perfectly well in a hammock."

"I should do that, since I'm imposing on you. I won't hear of it." Yet another reason for the objection occurred to Nigel. He asked bluntly, "Does sharing your bed with another man bother you, especially a man with my reputation?"

The captain returned a knowing look and broad-toothed smile that enhanced the dimple in his chin. "Wouldn't be the first time, nor the last, Your Highness. No, my only concern is sharing a bed with a man who happens to be my prince. I'm afraid I might earn your royal disfavor if I snore too loudly and keep you awake, or take up more than my share, or give you the wrong impression if I move too close in my sleep, considering your reputation as a happily married man."

"Is that my reputation then?" As it was, Nigel had already taken over the captain's chair, where he was rubbing Buddy's neck and shoulders. He purred, "Well, that would depend entirely upon what sort of impression you were trying to make." He met the captain's bright blue eyes, shrouded under a thick shock of warm brown hair that fell over the left side of his forehead. It had the kind of deliberate messiness that made Nigel want to run his fingers through it, either to smooth it, or muss it up more, and he couldn't believe he was flirting like this, especially considering the evening he had just spent with his wife.

Nigel hadn't met the captain or even been on board the ship since it had launched after the twins' birth. He hadn't paid him much attention once they arrived at the dock either, as the captain and his crew were busy getting the ship ready to set sail, and Nigel had been distracted by his farewells to his family, until Captain Harkness came over both to make a formal introduction and make to politely suggest that they get underway. After he had returned to his duties, Anora had put her hand on Nigel's arm and said softly, "Maker's breath, the captain's gorgeous! Should I be jealous?"

Nigel had given him a cool appraisal as if he hadn't noticed, though he had noticed immediately, then gave his wife an affectionate squeeze and nuzzled her ear as he whispered back, "I suppose he is. Should _I_ be jealous?"

Nigel felt himself stirring thinking about both that conversation with his wife, to his surprise, and the captain in front of him, which was no surprise at all. And they were flirting already. This might be a long voyage indeed. "I ah...hope I didn't give _you_ the wrong impression, Captain Harkness." But even as the words left his mouth, he knew very well he had given the impression he intended.

The captain flashed his toothy grin again and bowed. "No, not at all. My only concern is for your safety and comfort, Your Highness."

Was that disappointment, or was Nigel reading something into that look his eyes? If so, nothing more was said, and Nigel felt a little disappointed himself. His mind was clouded by fatigue, he decided. Though he normally slept only five hours or so a night, he had slept very little the past two days, and it was taking a toll. The captain excused himself to take the wheel and guide the ship into the Waking Sea. Nigel went straight to bed, falling into an exhausted sleep so deep he didn't even hear the captain when he came in hours later.

Rather than taking over the captain's study for his research as well, Nigel had taken the books on Orlesian law he had brought along and claimed a corner of the officers' dining room so that he could read and make notes. However, he found the reading terribly dry, as bad as it had been in his days as a student. He was also missing his girls, Gerard, and even his wife, and he reminded himself he had promised them letters, so of course that meant he had to drop the tedious book he was reading to write one to the children, and a short letter to Anora. He started another book, but told himself after another hour or so that he needed a break to clear his mind, and so that poor Buddy could stretch his legs.

That was the beginning of many "short" breaks. During them, Nigel learned to climb the masts, which he found was not too much different than climbing the side of a building, and then how to steer the ship. He was already experienced with ropes and knots, but he learned about how they were used on a ship, and then about the various sails and their uses, and he looked forward to learning to read the sextant. Seamanship was such a distraction that he had to force himself to return to the books. He found himself wishing he had gone to sea years ago because he felt perfectly at home. By the end of the second day at sea, he had only skimmed through two of the books, and had just over a page of notes to show for his effort. Then the storm made study impossible for more than another day.

He read through his notes in disgust the morning after the storm. A few scribbled lines simply would not do. He needed Iolanthe free if she were to be an ally in Orlais. While he had told himself that he wasn't using her for his own ends since he was acting on behalf of Ferelden, he had begun to see the bigger picture of her plight being the same as that of all elves in Orlais, and even in Ferelden. That knowledge spurred him in his study and note-taking, only stopping to wolf down food and drink when something was served to the officers. Owain took Buddy out to roam the deck with him, or Buddy would let himself in and out. Even when the first mate, Gunder, poked his head in to ask if he still wanted to learn how to read the sextant, his attention was diverted only for part of an hour.

Gunder explained how the device allowed them to find their location, day or night, as long as the user had a point of reference. Nigel spent some time watching him, then adjusting the arms and using the mirrors to line up the nearly midday sun with the horizon under Gunder's watchful eyes. He peered at the sea chart and tracing the lines until he found their location, and then came to the conclusion, already reached by Gunder, that the storm had taken them far off course. He put his finger on the map. "Are we truly all the way over here, a few days out or so from Kirkwall?"

Gunder spit over the side of the ship and nodded. "Aye, more or less, dependin' on the wind. We've made right good time with the help of that storm, but we're too far across the sea to put in at Highever now, Your Highness, unless we turn around."

Nigel had made an impulsive decision to surprise Fergus, to show off the ship to his big brother and his wife, whom he hadn't seen since Leanora's birth, and to meet his new nephew Bryce. He and Anora had also decided that it would be a good idea to station a warship or two in Highever, with the crown providing the ships and Highever covering the cost of maintaining them, and he thought a tour of the ship might help persuade them. But stopping to see Fergus was out of the question now.

"We'll try to sail for Highever on the way back. It was a last-minute impulse anyway." He carefully handed back the sextant to Gunder, who left to put it away.

Captain Harkness joined him, looking at the chart over Nigel's shoulder, standing so close Nigel could smell ginger and other exotic spices on his breath, as well as rum, with which his tea had been fortified. He was seized by a sudden impulse to lean back against him. But as he turned his head to look at him, despite the captain's jaunty smile, Nigel could see in his eyes how tired he was. He had worked without rest during the storm. Once it broke, he sent his most of his officers to their beds first while he inspected the ship, and then took the helm himself until they were rested.

"I see we're close to Kirkwall. If you wouldn't mind, Your Highness, the ship needs some repairs that could be made at sea, but would be more easily completed in a port. I'd rather not wait until we reach Orlais, in case we're hit by another storm. After all, word is it was such a storm that stranded the Qunari in Kirkwall when their ship smashed on the rocks. It would only mean a delay of a day at the most. Truth be told, Kirkwall's a strange, eerie place, and the crew will be happier if we can set sail as quickly as we can. I'll freely admit that sailors are a superstitious lot compared to the average person, but something in the city raises the hairs on the back of my neck as well."

Nigel rubbed the light blond stubble on his chin. "Perhaps there's a reason we were blown off course. Very well, and as long as we're going there, I have a mind to arrange a meeting with some of the Fereldans refugees who fled there during the blight. One is Jade Hawke. Have you heard of him? He has made quite a name for himself and became Kirkwall'sChampionafter defeating the Qunari's _Arishok _in single combat_._ I had thought of stopping to seek him out on my way back, but perhaps there's some reason for me to do so now. I hope to persuade him to return home. There's another former Fereldan who has made a name for herself in Kirkwall, Aveline Vallen, who now leads Kirkwall's city watch. I understand they're friends, or at least companions. Perhaps I could persuade them both that Ferelden need them."

The captain repeated the names slowly in a maddening long breath that tickled Nigel's ear and made him shiver. "Jade Hawke and Aveline Vallen. This is an interesting coincidence, Your Highness. I've not only heard of him, but I've also met them both. Captain Vallen's a tall, strong, raw-boned, green-eyed, horse-faced woman with ginger hair worn in a serious braid. She is much too serious for her own good, but she runs her Watch like a mother hen watching over her flock. Hawke too, I'd imagine, if she gets the chance. Him I first met at a tavern near the docks called _The Hanged Man, _before he fought the _Arishok_. He is or was at the time the bed-mate to an old acquaintance of mine. I've run into him twice since then when I've been in Kirkwall. His real name is Jared, but he said he's always been called 'Jade' because of the color of his eyes, which look like they're made of jade, flecked with gold."

Jared Hawke. Nigel was aware of that, but was surprised the captain was. "It sounds as if you know him quite well then."

"Aye, but not nearly as well as I would have liked." The captain smiled and closed his eyes to picture the man better. "I can still see him, tall, lanky, thick locks flowing down past his shoulders or pulled back in off his face, hair so dark brown it's almost black...tanned skin, high prominent cheekbones, a hawkish nose, a strong jaw not unlike yours. He has full lips that invite kissing. He is a very handsome man, though handsome doesn't really do him justice. He had grown a full beard last time I saw him, though I won't hold that against him. He looks nothing at all like the armored behemoth depicted in the statue of him, standing with his foot on the Arishok's head, that the Knight Commander erected near the harbor, but I suppose an armored behemoth fits her image of a champion. Jade's more of a leather armor and a polearm fighter."

Nigel knew very well that Jade Hawke was suspected of being an apostate, who had been schooled along with his late sister by an apostate father in Lothering, and was now hiding his talents right under the nose of the templars. Or perhaps he was tolerated for now, because of his status and service to the city-state. 'For now' was a point he had planned to emphasize if they met.

It made sense, hiding in plain sight pretending to be something else, such as a leather-clad rogue, and a mage's staff could be disguised as a polearm if a blade was attached at the top. He might even know how to use it that way. Nigel had heard that some Rivaini rogues were as adept at fighting with spears as they were with daggers, so a polearm wouldn't be out of place. But fame was a fickle whore, as Zev always used to say, and a Knight Commander who wanted to remove a potential candidate for viscount if she decided he was a threat to her power might denounce Hawke, and have him hauled off to their mage tower, which was said to be like a prison. She might even have him executed as a malificar.

He glanced over again and couldn't help but notice the effect that describing Hawke was having on the captain, while observing that he also had lips that invited kissing. He couldn't resist. "Sounds intriguing. Pity you didn't have a chance to get to know him and his polearm better. You could have told me all about it."

Captain Harkness chuckled at the implication. "As I said, not nearly as well as _I_ would have liked. I don't know if he's as _adventurous_ as I am, or as I suspect you are. However, he was also keeping company with a Rivaini pirate I mentioned before, who I had gotten to know quite well several years ago. Now she's adventurous, much like a man, which is the reason I got to know her as well as I did. Perhaps she's had an affect on Jade since I saw them last."

Nigel arched an eyebrow. This really was too much of a coincidence, and he told himself that there surely were other female Rivaini pirates even as he heard himself ask,"By any chance is she called Isabela?"

The captain grinned back at him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Isabela! There can only be one! I don't even have to ask; I can tell by your expression! You have that haunted look of terror and rapture only seen on the face of someone who has been invited back to her cabin."

Nigel wondered if it truly was a small world, or if it was that the world of sailors was that small. "Isabela. I've wondered over the years whatever became of her. She's never returned to Denerim, to my knowledge. I met her at _The Pearl _when I was a pup, during the Blight. She was dueling three sailors who had accused her of cheating at Wicked Grace. That she had been cheating I had no doubt, and I also don't doubt that they had been as well. But she cheated better, and they were being sore losers. However, before I could be chivalrous and rush to her aid, she defeated the three of them."

The captain laughed. "Oh, of course. 'Bela always cheats no matter what the game, and it wouldn't be the first time she's taken on three or four opponents at once."

Nigel chuckled and nodded in agreement. "That game is ripe for cheating, isn't it?"

The captain clapped his hand on Nigel's shoulder again. "You must have done something to gain her attention, besides nearly coming to her rescue."

" I was interested in her fighting technique, and I asked her to show me a few moves, and then I suggested we get to know one another better someplace more private. That got her attention. It turned out that 'Bela knew my friend Zev quite well. He's an Antivan Crow who had assassinated her husband, which gave her control of his ship. I can't imagine her staying with one person for long, however. Jade Hawke must be quite a man if he's managed to keep her interest, or else he's not the jealous type."

"Jade still had her interest the last time I saw them a little over a year ago, though 'Bela is fickle as they come. I was surprised to see her still on land last time I was in Kirkwall, even if she had lost her ship. I'd love to hear about this Antivan Crow friend of yours though. Something I saw in your eyes when you mentioned him piques my curiosity. Is he handsome?" The captain rolled up the chart and handed it back to Gunder to put away. He cocked his head and smiled charmingly at his prince, hoping for an invitation for further discussion of Rivaini pirates and handsome assassins in the cabin to help him relax for some much-needed sleep. Tired as he was, there were some things he was never too tired for.

But Nigel sighed and turned away, staring out to sea, changing the subject. "That is assuming that Hawke agrees to meet me at all, or that he's still in Kirkwall. Anything can happen in a year or two." Nigel couldn't help feeling wistful remembering that evening on 'Bela's ship. Anything that made him think too much about Zev ripped open an old wound, and it had been far too long since he had seen him or heard any news about him. He could be dead for all he knew. It killed him having to describe him as a mere friend when he was so much more, but he could hardly describe him to anyone as what he was, his soul mate and the love of his life. He excused himself. "I must return to my studies."

The captain bowed as the prince and his mabari quickly strode off towards to the officers' quarters, as if all the demons of the Fade were after him. He sighed and said under his breath as he watched him walk away, "Here I thought we were getting somewhere. Was it something I said?" He waited a few minutes to give him time to escape then sought out his bed.

Late that evening, Owain brought Buddy back from a game of Diamondback they had been playing in the crews' quarters. Nigel thanked him and put away his quills and his notes. He had made good progress, aided by the ship's doctor, who had also studied law in Orlais before he turned his interest to medicine. Feeling that he had finally accomplished something, he and Buddy slipped quietly into the captain's cabin, taking care not to awaken him.

Buddy dropped the leather pouch he had been carrying in his mouth onto the floor next to the rug he had claimed and pushed it under the chair with his nose, the closest he could come to digging a hole and burying it. He circled three times, in the manner of dogs everywhere, stretched with his tail in the air, then settled to sleep. He had done well, though he had wanted to bite Owain for trying to bet against him. Oh to have hands like the humans so he could work the cards himself, but then he wouldn't be able to run as fast.

Nigel shook out his hair and ran his fingers through it, then stripped down to his small clothes and folded his clothing neatly across the back of another chair as he thought about what to wear when they landed in Kirkwall. If this were an official visit, or if he wanted to make an impression, he would disembark in his full court regalia, including his coronet, surrounded by his guards and courtiers. But that would draw too much attention to his arrival. He wanted to slip in, meet Hawke, Vallen, and some of the other Fereldan refugees known as the "dog lords" who made their home in Kirkwall, and get on his way.

He especially wanted to avoid alerting the Knight Commander of his presence, so he wouldn't have to waste his few hours in the city going through the formalities of a state visit. From what he and Anora had heard from travelers and from their former ambassador to The Marches, Knight-Commander Meredith fancied herself the acting viscountess, stepping in at first out of necessity to fill the vacuum of power left by the death of both the last viscount and his heir during the Qunari attack, but remaining in that station for years as if there was no other suitable choice, though they had heard that some of the nobility whispered that Hawke was the logical candidate.

To him this was further evidence that Hawke either must be known or suspected to be a mage, or otherwise considered unsuitable. That he was unsuitable because he was a foreigner was unlikely since his mother's family bore one of the oldest aristocratic names in the Marches, even if they had fallen on hard times until Hawke restored the family's fortunes. Something didn't add up. It would be better to send his men out to deliver his notes to Jade Hawke and Avelline Vallen, and invite them to meet him someplace neutral, like outside the Watch office.

He clasped his hands together, raised them above his head, and stretched away the stiffness out of his back from hours of being hunched over reading and writing, then bent over and to stretch his legs as well, stretching until he could place his palms flat on the floor. When he finished, he crept softly towards the bed, where he discovered that the captain was awake, lying on his side, watching him. He had an amused grin as he met Nigel's eyes.

Nigel flushed. "I'm sorry, did I awaken you?" Thus far one or the other of them had already been asleep when the other came to bed or awakened. Nigel had slept very deeply in fact, other than on the night of the storm, being rocked to sleep gently by the sea.

The captain pushed back the covers from Nigel's side of the bed. "No, I had only just come back to bed myself, after watching your mabari and the crew play cards. Fascinating creatures, aren't they? He did well tonight. They made quite a team; your man Owain was helping him with handling the cards and making his bets, but the dog was clearly the one making the decisions. He even growled a warning at Owain one time when they disagreed on which trump to play, and it turned out the dog was right. Don't mind me though, I'm babbling. Come, get out of the night chill." He patted the bed invitingly.

Nigel chuckled as he performed a series of lunges. "Buddy's been watching me play cards since he was a pup, and one day I realized his woofs and growls as he watched was his way of giving me advice. He has a regular game now with other mabaris in the kennels." After one last long languid stretch, he turned back to face the captain.

The captain leaned up on one elbow. " Finished? Pity, I was enjoying the show. You're very flexible. You remind me of a dancer I knew once. One would never suspect to look at you that so much taut, finely honed muscle was hidden under your clothing, though I've noticed you do like to show off your legs. And I see that you have such interesting scars that beg to be explored."

Nigel smirked as he made a stage bow. "I'm pleased you found it enjoyable." They were definitely past flirting now, and each knew very well what was coming next. His eyes stayed on the captain's as he slowly began to unlace his small clothes, then hooked them down over one hip with his thumb as he let his eyes travel from his face over the captain's broad, chiseled torso, the light from a lantern outside the window playing across him. He either shaved, or he didn't have much body hair either. He was also very fit. His eyes traveled further, and he smiled when the captain obliged him and pushed the covers completely off. "I see you did enjoy the show."

The captain smiled back coyly. "I confess I wondered if our sleeping and waking and our duties would ever sync, but here we are at last. Could I help you with that last lace?"

"Only if you use your teeth." Nigel slipped into bed and stretched out on his side, facing him.

"You read my mind, though I only like just enough teeth for a bit of friction. You're so smooth, almost like an elf. I pity your being left so defenseless against your harsh Fereldan winters." He pushed Nigel's long blond hair back over his shoulder and caressed his cheek, following with a kiss there, then leaned back and looked at him with concern. "You're very warm. Are you well? Should I call the doctor in?"

Nigel chuckled dryly. "He's not my type, but I haven't brought plague onto the ship. It's merely the darkspawn taint. You must not have gotten this close to a Gray Warden before."

Nigel ran his fingers though that wild shock of hair that had been tempting him for days, then pulled him close and kissed him. He had been right, his lips were made for kissing. He kissed him again as he moved his hand down his neck and to his chest. As he brushed his thumb across his nipple then followed with his mouth, it occurred that this was one more lie he had been living with for years. Though he could appreciate a woman's soft curves, when given a choice, he preferred a man with smooth skin and firm muscles, like this man with him now. "Now about that last lace..."

Neither of them was under a delusion that this was anything more than sex, even if they continued every day until they reached Orlais. It occurred to him that was what made sex with a man different. There was no emotional attachment required. They didn't necessarily even need to like one another. It was simply a matter of mutually agreeable pleasure. It also occurred to him that Isabela was very much like a man in that way, but he immediately banished thoughts of her from his mind, as that inevitably led to thoughts of Zev. He turned his full attention on the one he was with. He knew Zev would have.

The ship reached Kirkwall in the middle of the next night, which was for the best, as the enormous bronze statues of slaves that lined the walls along the entrance to the harbor were for the most part shrouded by fog and darkness. However, as soon as the ship had docked, the earliness of the hour didn't prevent the harbor master's assistant, accompanied by a squad of templars, from coming aboard to inspect the ship. Fortunately, the captain had been at the helm as the ship sailed into the harbor, and he was used to the templar paranoia in Kirkwall. Yet even he had never seen it this bad, and it set him on edge instantly as he handed over the ship's papers, though on the surface he remained calm. The atmosphere was electric, and the captain felt as if something was about to happen. Perhaps Nigel was right, and there was a reason that they had been blown off course.

"_The Queen Anora_, out of Denerim?" the templar in charge asked suspiciously, knowing they had strange ideas regarding mage rights in Ferelden. "What's the nature of yer business? What cargo are you carrying?"

"No cargo, this is the flagship of the Fereldan fleet." Captain Harkness mentally shook his head, though he smiled disarmingly at the templar. No wonder the word was out that cargo ships were now charging a premium for sailing into Kirkwall. He figured that the Knight Commander was unaware that it was common for ships to drop off contraband cargo and people at coves frequented by smugglers outside of the city. He wondered how she expected the city she was attempting to rule to thrive if merchant ships were avoiding it, or if she cared. "We are traveling to Orlais, first Jader and then Val Royeaux. As our ship was damaged in a storm a few days past, I thought it prudent to put in at the closest port for repairs."

The templars studied every person on deck as the harbor master's assistant read over the paperwork then moved to hand it back. "T'is in order, ser. I'll send word to Riddick's for shipwrights for yer as soon as the sun's come up."

The templar in charge intercepted the papers gruffly and thumbed through them. "Hang on! Where's your roster of passengers?"

The captain sighed audibly as the templar motioned most of his squad to head below decks, and the rest to the officers' quarters. He hated the full face plates on the helms many of them wore, because in the darkness, he couldn't read their eyes. "I have no passengers, as it were. As I said, this is the flagship of the royal fleet. We are carrying His Royal Highness Nigel on a diplomatic visit to Orlais. Therefore he is not a passenger, since it's his ship."

The templar looked around. "Awful big bloody boat to carry one man."

The captain had heard about how the lyrium that templars used to combat malificars began to addle their brains over time. He guessed this one had been using it for many years. "Would you expect His Royal Highness to travel to Orlais in a rowboat? He naturally has his courtiers, guards, and servants with him, as well as his guests, the Arl and Arlessa of Redcliffe, and their servants, and his mabari, Ser Buddy Spawnbane." He hoped that dropping names would get this idiot off his ship so he could grab a few more hours' sleep and then have wake-up sex with the leggy blond in question asleep in his bed before the shipwrights arrived.

If he had hoped that the templar would be impressed, he was disappointed. "Courtiers and servants, eh? No tellin' how many of them might be apostates or even malificarum, _especially_ comin' from Ferelden. Our Knight-Captain Cullen was one of the few survivors when the Fereldan circle was nearly undone by blood mages. He's told us all about it."

The captain gestured around the ship. "I swear to you we have no malificarum here, or even a mage, but you're free to look around." He ignored the fact that the templars were already below looking around, some awakening everyone in the lower decks, while others stood guard at the stairs to catch anyone trying to escape to another deck. It could have been worse, he supposed, imagining if they had boarded the ship a few hours from now, and had broken in on him and the Prince of Ferelden in a compromising position.

The passengers were awakened by the sound of heavy armored boots on the stairs. Bella sat up, snatching the covers up to cover her chest, and looked at her husband in alarm. "Maker's breath, what is it? Another storm? Pirates?"

Teagan instantly got out of bed and pulled on his pants and shirt, which were lying on the floor near the bed. "Stay here, love. I'll find out." As Bella got out of bed on the other side and slipped on the unworn nightgown that Iolanthe had left out for her, Teagan drew his sword from its scabbard, which was hanging from a peg near the door. He gave his bride a concerned look. "Why don't you take care of Mrs. G and Iolanthe until I get back."

Bella nodded and rushed through the door that lead to their room, where she found Mrs.G in her nightgown and nightcap, holding a pair of knitting needles menacingly, while Iolanthe stood in front of her in her nightgown as well, armed with a pair of wicked curved daggers. Bella tried to make her voice calm, though her heart was pounding so loudly she thought it might explode. "Teagan has gone to see what's the matter."

She looked around the room for a weapon, muttering a curse under her breath because there wasn't so much as a candlestick handy to use. "What I wouldn't give for a meat cleaver or an axe." She pointed at Iolanthe's daggers. "Have you any more of those? I'll be damned if I'll let raiders or pirates have us without making 'em pay dearly."

Owain was also up in a start, awakening in the chair where he had fallen asleep after an evening spent gambling and drinking grog with the crew. He fetched his daggers as Ianto sat up in his bunk, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. As he realized that something was amiss, Ianto jumped out of bed, threw on his pants and drew his sword. Owain nodded at it doubtfully. "Ever use one of those against a live person?"

Ianto swallowed hard. "I've had lessons. I'm a courtier, not a soldier, but I'm sworn to serve and defend my prince just the same."

Owain frowned. "Sounds like 'no.' Best stay behind me then." At that moment the air was pierced by a loud canine howl. Even some of those who were used to the sound of a mabari battle howl nevertheless experienced a cramp in their stomachs and a sense of dread. The howl was answered by the howls the two other mabaris below on board the ship, who belonged to royal marines. "Buddy's rallying his own troops for His Highness. I'm going to help the ladies." Ianto gaped at him as he left, then sighed and went to defend his prince alone.

Owain sprinted to the door of the room the fair Iolanthe and Mrs. G were sharing. He knocked softly and called out, "It's me, Owain," before he tried the handle. A heartbeat later, it opened slowly, and Mrs. G motioned him in and slammed it shut behind him.

"What's the matter?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice the only thing betraying her fright.

"Don't know, mum. I thought I heard something about templars, but I'm not takin' a chance." Owain glanced at the ladies in their nightgowns and bowed as he realized the arlessa was there, looking flushed and tousled, which to his eyes made her even more beautiful, as was Iolanthe in her gown. They had all armed themselves, but of the three, only the pretty elf looked like she knew how to use the daggers she held, though he didn't doubt the other two women would fight like lions if need be. "I did say just this morning that you could stab someone's eyes out with your knitting needles, Mrs. G." She looked determined to prove him right. He met Iolanthe's lovely eyes and whispered, "To me, m'dear?"

Iolanthe recognized him as a skilled fighter from his stance, and she didn't hesitate to join his side. "Perhaps it is templars, but why would templars storm the ship in the middle of the night? Unless we have reached Kirkwall already, and they are looking for someone, no?"

Meanwhile, Nigel spared only a heartbeat to glance over as Ianto opened the service door, surprised it wasn't locked as it had been the past two mornings. Someone was knocking loudly on the other door, demanding, "Open in the name of the Knight-Commander!"

Ianto blushed as he spotted his prince in the shadows on one side of the door, naked as the day he was born, yet with his short sword and dagger ready. "What is it, Your Highness?"

Nigel shushed Ianto and motioned him to fall in behind him as he called out, "Who's there?" Buddy flattened his ears and growled menacingly on the other side of the door, then backed up, ready to hit an attacker with a mabari charge.

To Nigel, this was all too familiar, dredging up memories of that night of horror in Highever when his life had changed forever. That too had begun with a barking dog, a loud knock, a shout of "Fire!" and then sweet but foolish Darrien, who had shared his bed that night, lying dead on the floor in a pool of blood. The memory caused beads of sweat to break out on his forehead, and he swallowed the bile rising in his throat. But he and Buddy had killed almost everyone who came through his door that night, almost everyone because the last of them had been skillfully stabbed in the back by his mother. He was much more acquainted with death now than when he was a callow boy. He reached over and unlocked the door.

He grabbed the first templar as he came through the door, using the man's forward momentum to throw him against the wall. Nigel pointed his dragon bone dagger at the man's throat, knowing that his gorget was probably no match for Master Wade's dagger. His short sword was aimed at the next templar, whose attention had been focused on Buddy. As that templar drew his sword to parry Nigel's blade, Buddy took advantage of his distraction and charged into him, knocking him back into another templar, who was interrogating Teagan and Byron.

Teagan had the advantage of spotting the mabari charging over the templar's shoulder, and he deftly grabbed Byron and stepped aside and watched the templars go sprawling. If they had been real enemies and not merely over-zealous idiots, he would have quickly finished them while they were down and vulnerable. He was about to offer his idiot a hand up when half a dozen royal marines charged up the stairs, weapons drawn, with two baying mabari leading the way. They joined Buddy in keeping the templars down on the deck.

Nigel pulled the templar into the hallway roughly. Still holding his dagger to the man's throat, he growled, "Do you think perhaps you can tell me what this is all about, serah, and why you've seen fit to awaken us at this hour?"

The templar stammered, "We we we..." and followed that by pissing himself.

In the midst of the chaos, the captain appeared, calmly stepping over and around templars, marines, and hounds. The templar sergeant he had been dealing with followed closely behind him. "I can, Your Highness. This is what passes for hospitality in Kirkwall." The captain bowed with a flourish and explained.

The captain had used his charm to make peace between the two parties, and the templars had been allowed to search the ship and satisfied themselves that there were no malificarum or abominations hidden aboard. A few hours later, Nigel finished writing two brief notes, using the captain's back as a writing desk. He folded the papers neatly and added a thick blob of hot black wax to each to seal them, careful not to get any on the captain's back. He pressed his signet ring into the wax. "Well, that's done. All that's left to do is arrive at the appointed time, and hope that Hawke and Vallen haven't been too long away from Ferelden to care about what is going on there."

The captain sat up on the bed, listening to voices outside. "Bugger. Sounds like the shipwrights are here already. Ah well, no rest for the wicked. And I was hoping for seconds." He stood, stretched, and scratched his backside, then ambled over to the wash basin and poured in a bucket of water. "I don't know if noon is a good meeting time though now that I think about it. Hawke belongs to the aristocratic set now, so he might not even be out of bed by then. And Vallen will likely have been about her duties for five hours and might be too busy to get away."

Nigel paused at the door. "True, but this _is_ a royal summons. I'm hoping that they'll show up to satisfy their curiosity if nothing else." He rang a bell, and a moment later Ianto knocked softly twice.

Nigel opened the door just wide enough to see him and to pass the notes through. "Here are the notes I wanted you to deliver for me. The first is to be taken to Serah Jade Hawke at the Amell estate in Hightown. The second is for Captain Aveline Vallen at the Watch headquarters in the viscount's keep, also in Hightown. Take Owain with you. I don't have to tell you to dress in your best, but remind him. If you must leave these with a servant or assistant, make sure to drop my name, so my invitation won't be set aside and forgotten."

Ianto flushed, noticing the prince still hadn't dressed, and nodded. "At once, Your Highness. Did you still want me to look for a ship bound for Denerim, so I can send off your gifts for your girls?"

"Yes, but only if you can find one that looks trustworthy. If not, I'll send them Ned's carvings from Jader. And Ianto, take a few marines with you too, and inform the rest they'll be with me. I'm sure after this morning they'll understand why I want you and Owain to have an escort as you make your way across the city."

Ianto swallowed. "Might I suggest taking some sailors with us instead, Your Highness? After your marines knocked those templars out..."

Nigel chuckled dryly. "I understand your concern, but perhaps a headache will cause the tempars to think twice before storming a ship in the dead of night. Thank the Maker no one was killed or hurt too badly, other than their pride."

Ianto grimaced, hating speaking the truth to power, but it was his nature to do so. "There was a broken jaw, Your Highness."

"The lesson is never argue with a royal marine going about his duty." Nigel shrugged. "The ship's doctor saw to them, and I paid for that man to be healed. Get back as soon as you can." He shut the door, glad that the boy was speaking his mind. He had been right to bring the boy along, green as he was.

The captain finished shaving. "I could do you too, or if you'd like, there is a bathouse I know of in Hightown that caters to an exclusive clientele, called _The Rose_. We could meet there tonight and find a pair of attractive back scrubbers?" The captain gave him an inviting smile that was difficult to refuse.

Nigel shook his head but smiled. "Thanks, but I'm sure Owain is already waiting outside with fresh hot water for me. If I let you do me, I might be late for my appointment. _The Rose_ it is, with dinner first? Now, what shall I wear?"


	16. Old Friends and New

Chapter 16 Old Friends and New

Usual disclaimer: Most of the characters in this chapter are owned by Bioware, EA, and other corporate people, but not by me, though I do freely make use of my version of their Cousland Noble and his dog.

Kirkwall, Darktown:

Jade Hawke murmured a word of magic, and a ball of light formed on the end of his staff, lighting their way though the former smugglers' tunnel that led from Darktown to his Hightown estate. After dropping Anders off at his clinic, he had decided to stay and help, and spent a good hour with his sometime companion treating the line of patients that quickly formed once word got out that Anders was back in residence. After treating the worst of them, Anders had turned the remaining patients over to his assistants so he could fall into his cot and get some sleep, though Hawke suspected he would nap then work more on that mysterious manifesto of his.

Varric and Isabela had been with them, and while they waited for Hawke, they had helped out at the clinic however they could, such as getting them supplies or in simple ways like bringing patients water. Varric naturally entertained those waiting with a story or two, and Isabela also was prodded by the dwarf to share a song about her homeland. When Hawke finished, he, his brown-speckled mabari hound Bob, Isabela, and Varric trudged uphill through the cold, damp passageway leading home.

Varric would normally have headed home to his suite at _The Hanged Man_, but he tagged along because he needed to look in on his business dealings with the Dwarven Merchants' Guild, then see if anyone in his spy network in Hightown was around, drop in on another of their sometime companions, Fenris, and most important, head over to the Watch barracks to catch up on the gossip and read through the logs of the past few days incidents and arrests in hopes of a juicy story he could incorporate into his writing.

"I would like to look in on Merrill later tonight, or perhaps in the morning," Hawke said as they picked their way up the steps carved into the stone. He was concerned about her mental state since her former Keeper Marethari's death, but when he saw her last, she was adjusting to life in the alienage.

But for now he was road-weary, and hoped for a bath, a nap, a simple dinner, and a quiet night in his library, though he knew 'Bela would have other suggestions. After a rest, they could go by the alienage on their way to _The Hanged Man, _unless 'Bela suggested somewhere else_, _or they could put that off until the morning if he could distract her. He had a standing order with one of the book merchants to send him any new Nevarran romances that came in, which she fancied, so he was hopeful a new book would be waiting for her.

Varric grunted in agreement. "I don't doubt that Daisy has been working on your estate and keeping herself busy annoying your neighbors by tending their gardens while you've been gone."

Hawke looked back at his friend and chuckled. "She can't grasp the concept that the plants she encourages for their simple beauty or herbal uses are often as not considered weeds by my neighbors, but after she saved Lady Barton's roses, and showed her how her servants could use one of the garden weeds to make a facial cream, she made a powerful friend."

"Ah, I can't wait to have a bath and to wash my hair," Isabela said with a throaty sigh as she stretched then ran her fingers through her long dark hair. "We should have had Bob run up with a note so Bodahn could have a bath ready."

Bob lowered her head and replied with long a "I'm not a errand-dog" whine then nosed Hawke for reassurance.

Hawke scratched her head then turned his light downward. "Bob would remind you that she's not an errand-dog, my love." He kicked some loose rubble out of their way then shined the light up to look for signs of trouble in the roof of the tunnel. "Besides, I'm sure Bodahn's busy getting ready for their move to Orlais. I wish I could figure out what the Orlesians want with Sandal. But remember Orana will be more than happy to see to your bath. She's constantly rebuking me gently for doing things she should be doing."

"Orana doesn't know any other way. Let her feel she has earned her pay and draw my bath so she feels useful." She watched Hawke walking ahead of her, dressed in simple dark leathers rather than his Champion's armor, and slowed for a better view. She did love that ass. He was slender but well-built compared to the other mages she had encountered, though she knew that without her encouragement, he would spend too much time with his boring books and end up skinny and pasty-looking like Anders. He had told her how his father had met a man from Rivain years ago who had taught him to fight with a staff, both with and without a Rivaini halberd attached, and he had passed the skill on to his son. She had taught Hawke a few of her acrobatic moves as well. Anything to help maintain his cover as a helpful rogue and keep him out of the templars' clutches. She purred, "Care to join me, lover?"

"I'm sure someone caught wind of Sandal's enchanting skills and wants to use him, but it seems like a lot of work to go through when there are plenty of tranquil in Orlais who could do the same thing. Something doesn't add up, Hawke. I wonder if there's more to the boy than we know." Varric frowned grimly as he considered who in his network could find out for him. He had grown attached to the strange young dwarf and his father during the time he had known Hawke. "I think we should try to talk them out of going."

Hawke held up his left hand to pause then held the light out ahead, thinking for a moment he saw something in the shadows, but it was nothing. He was just being paranoid, but he reminded himself that didn't mean someone wasn't hiding in wait for him. He'd taken to using this passage to travel across the city partly because he wanted to travel to and from home without being stopped along the way, and partly because Varric's informants at the Gallows had warned him that Knight-Commander Meredith was growing ever more severe in her dealings with apostates or even suspected apostates, and she was actively collecting any information she could get on him.

It made him fear for Anders and Merrill too, but for now Meredith's focus seemed to be on him. In an emergency, they both knew they could slip through the labyrinthine corridors that made up Darktown and Lowtown and take this passage to find refuge in his cellars until it was safe. That was, unless Meredith decided to have her templars arrest him and conducted a thorough search of his estate and found the tunnel.

It had been nearly three years since he fought the Arishok in single combat, though Bob fought at his side. He was only too aware that fame was fleeting, and he was afraid that it was only a matter of time before Meredith decided the gloss was off him enough that she could make her move. There was no one strong enough in Kirkwall to stand up to her except Elthina, on rare occasion, but even the Grand Cleric had limits on what she was willing to do. Her insistence on neutrality and biding their time was maddening. Perhaps he should actively gather evidence of templar abuses and present them to Elthina and force her to replace Meredith. Cullen, her captain, at least was fair as far as templars went, if he was the one appointed to replace her.

They trudged on until they reached a wall where the tunnel veered to the left towards another series of tunnels that led to the cliffs outside the city. He stretched up and touched a hidden lever that opened a cleverly-concealed door and sighed, "Home again."

As tempting as that bath with 'Bela sounded, he knew that a bath would turn into sex in the tub until the water grew cold, then continuing in his bed until they fell asleep. As much as he wanted that, he did need to talk with Bodahn again and then go through the correspondence that had arrived in his absence. Varric was right, there was something strange about the Orlesian invitation to Bodahn and Sandal. He looked back over his shoulder at the dwarf. "Maybe you should try talking to Bodahn, Varric. I've already tried, but you're the one with the silver tongue."

'Bela chuckled. "Aye, that's what the ladies all say, Varric. Between that and his fabulous chest hair..."

Varric flushed and shut the door securely behind before he replied to Hawke, ignoring Isabela's insinuation. "All right, I'll lure him away to share a mug of that bitter lichen ale I had sent over to him last week and discuss what he's heard around the guild, then try to find out more about their invitation. I did want to drop in on Broody before I head over to the Watch office though."

"I should too, but tomorrow is another day." Hawke yawned and stretched then turned a sconce further down the wall to pop open another hidden door, which opened to a hallway lined with a cold storage room, another hidden room he used for his magical research, and a spiral stairway leading into the the basement proper. From their they took another stairway up to the main floor. Hidden bells had been triggered by their passage to alert those in the house, but Hawke also had also rung a hidden pull that signaled that it was a friend and not some random house-breaker coming up the stairs.

Bodahn trotted in as soon as they entered. "Ah, you're back! Sandal said last night that you and the doggie would be back today, and he was right. Impeccable timing, if I do say so, ser! You've just now received a letter dropped off by a young man wearing a Fereldan badge on his doublet and his guards. The letter is stamped with the royal seal, if I'm not mistaken. I'll run and retrieve it at once."

Isabela mused, "That might have something to do with that warship under repairs flying the Fereldan colors I spied on the other side of the docks. I was going to have a look at her later. I wonder how many cannon she carries?"

Sandal ran through the door, slapped his thighs above his knees, and exclaimed, "Doggie!" Bob wagged her stump of a tail and woofed excitedly before running over and licking the young dwarf's face as he put his arms around her then petted her. "Hungry?" he asked. Bob woofed twice and followed him to the kitchen.

Orana appeared out of nowhere, silent as a cat, and curtsied. "Can I be of service, my lord, my lady?"

"We would greatly appreciate a bath, if it's not too much trouble." He knew how much trouble it was, just as he knew she already had set kettles of water on to boil as soon as she heard the bell. He reluctantly surrendered his pack, but not his staff. "I'll sort through it myself, if you don't mind. Just set it down in my bedchamber, carefully."

"Mine as well, though I left my laundry in a bundle on top," 'Bela added as she handed the slender elf her pack.

The young elf smiled and took their packs. She had firsthand experience of what her master did when he was out adventuring. If something looked like dried blood, it probably was. "I will leave you a basket for your laundry, Ser Hawke. Oh, and I finished your mending and completed that embroidery you wanted on your good silk shirt, my lady, in the gold and silver thread."

Isabela clasped her hands and bounced with happiness. "Ah yes, 'Felicitate me!' Below the two crossed daggers? I can't wait to wear it!" Hawke and Varric exchanged a look, both thinking that Sebastian would choke if he saw her wearing that.

Isabela watched her go, carrying the two packs effortlessly. "I'll go with her and help her with the water, except I'm too curious to see what's in this mysterious letter first. Did I ever tell you I met the prince when he was a Gray Warden? Or is he still? He's not exactly a run-away like Anders. What was his name, Nigel Kossuth, or something? Or does he use the queen's name now? She does outrank him."

"Cousland." Hawke didn't want to think about how well his love knew him. But part of loving 'Bela was accepting her past and her former lovers, and accepting that she had occasional lovers besides him still, one of whom, the Antivan elf, she had asked for sex as casually as she might ask to share a meal, and had persuaded Hawke to join them. There's a first time for everything, though she was understanding if he didn't care for a second time. And it was his bed she returned to. He led the way into the tea parlor closest to the kitchens and eased himself into an arm chair.

She murmured as she sat beside him, "Cousland," and smiled. "Yes, that was it. Strange, isn't it, that we should have recently run into Zevran, and now him. The two of them were attached at the hip back then. Anyone who looked at them could see it plain as day, though I dare say neither one had figured that out yet. They put on quite a show for us in my cabin, leaving me and that delicious _Sister_ Nightengale to our own devices. For a time, at least. Pity she's become pious again." She smiled lasciviously at the memory. 

"Well shit, now I'm curious too. This sounds like a story." Varric set Bianca down lovingly on a mahogany table and took a seat.

Hawke shot his lover a look that was a plea for silence as Bodahn entered the room. "Here it is, Ser. Did I tell you that Sandal and I traveled with the Wardens while he gathered forces during the Blight? Small world, isn't it? I can imagine what you're thinking, but being in the middle of a war camp seemed like the safest place for me and my boy to be at the time."

"This certainly does look official." Hawke examined the wax seal, then carefully opened the letter so he wouldn't break it before he read it.

Unable to contain her curiosity, Isabela leaned over and tried to read over his shoulder, but he was too tall for that, so she put her arm around his waist and tried to read around him. "Well, what is it?"

He turned and showed it to her. "An invitation. He's in Kirkwall for the day, and he would like Aveline and I to do him the honor of meeting with him at the Keep, at One this afternoon." Hawke glanced at the Orlesian clock on the mantlepiece. It was one of the first things his mother had bought with the money he gave her when they reclaimed her family's estate, even before she bought them new clothes.

Bodahn was standing by with paper and quill, and Hawke wrote a hasty reply. "Bodahn, can you take this down to the _Queen Anora_?"

"Right away, ser." Bodahn took the folded note and trotted out of the room.

He nodded at Varric. "Will you come too? You'll have time enough to take care of your guild business beforehand, and we have enough time to bathe and to eat something. What does one wear to a royal summons?" He really hoped 'Bela's answer wouldn't be her newly embroidered tunic.

"Your champion's armor, of course. I'll meet you there." Varric grinned as he stood and collected Bianca, debating either running home to change, or just visiting the public bath and buying something new at one of the dwarven shops in the Hightown market.

"What about me?" Isabela pouted and put her arms around him tighter.

Hawke arched an eyebrow. "I didn't have to ask, love. I knew you would come, but...don't expect sex will be involved. He's married to Queen Anora now."

She shrugged and slipped off his lap to go help Orana with the water. Turning back at the doorway, she added, "We will see. We should at least invite him and his people for dinner."

Hawke carefully folded the letter and put it on his desk. "Perhaps. I am sure Meredith, or Bran at least, will already have something arranged."

The Gallows:

The day had not begun well, as the cook had somehow become distracted and scorched the bacon for breakfast, and the day threatened to get worse, as she worked through the overflowing basket on her desk. Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard drank a cup of strong herbal tea to ward off hunger and a headache, which had hovered threateningly since she awoke. She sat in her office in the Gallows in a stiff high backed chair, reading through the pile of pleas, demands, and a few invitations to attend parties, weddings, a few dinners, but none of which were invitations to the spring balls planned by the nobility, she noted.

"_Bootlickers_," she thought, "_as if I begging, deigning to include me, or worse, ignoring or threatening me is going to gain them anything. As if I have the time to waste hobnobbing with them when I'm busy going about the Maker's work_." What really galled her was the suspicion that she had only been invited in hopes of future favors. She ran a calloused hand along the pommel of her sword, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, slowly releasing it as contact with it calmed her. She tossed the pleas and demands in a pile for Bran and her tranquil secretary to deal with, the demands on the bottom. The invitations she set aside in a pile to consider, if she decided her schedule allowed.

None of them had any idea how hard she worked in service to them, nor how much she had willingly sacrificed of her own life to protect them from the danger lurking in the darkness. They took for granted the life they lived. If only they could understand what she knew, but their minds were too simple, too shallow, to comprehend the truth. If only they could see how even the most meek of those afflicted with the curse of magical ability inexorably turned to the help of demons, when pressed. Not even Orsino saw the threat, not that she trusted that one as far as she could throw him, and she would like to throw him off the cliffs, or into a hole so deep he could never climb out, him along with the rest of them.

Things had become so bad that she was considering calling for the Rite of Annulment. This had only been discussed with her closest senior officers, yet even they had not been in agreement with her. She was growing weary of the counter arguments that surely things were not that bad or that innocents might die. In that case, she had reminded them, the Maker would then welcome them into His arms, if they were _truly_ innocent, and their suffering on this world would be at an end. Was their faith so weak that they could not see that? Unfortunately, she was afraid so.

She picked up the duty schedules and skimmed through then initialed them, and then turned to the report of injuries. The first were typical—two practice injuries, but the next one was caused by trip on the stairs escorting a struggling mage down into the isolation cells. She grunted, signed the order for the mage to be made tranquil and tossed it aside. The next, a broken jaw that had required the use of magic for healing, caught her attention. She took another drink of tea before she began to read through it more closely, expecting that someone, most likely one of the gangs that plagued the city, had caught one of her templars off guard. If it was someone helping an apostate to escape, the guilty party would have to be dealt with severely. There had been far too much of that going on. Before she could begin to read it, however, she was interrupted by two sharp raps on her door.

Meredith frowned in annoyance at the interruption, though she recognized the knock of her Knight-Captain, and had been expecting him."Enter, Cullen."

He knight-captain was becoming another source of her headaches lately. Cullen had shown so much promise when he first transferred to Kirkwall from Ferelden, for here was a man who had experienced personally how dire the threat was. He had seen eye to eye with her when he first arrived. In fact, that was why he had requested a transfer to Kirkwall. But recently he had had the audacity to suggest in the meeting with her top officers that the templars might be going too far and were abusing their power. While it was true that Alrik had shamed the order by having had a few young, pretty female mages rendered tranquil and so he could keep them as his harem, she insisted that he was an aberration.

After too long a hesitation for her liking, the door opened. Even Cullen's voice was hesitant. "Knight-Commander?"

Irritated by the tone of his voice, she snapped, "Come in. Is something wrong?" She wondered how long she would have to waste wheedling whatever _it_ was out of him as her temple began to throb again.

He gestured at the duty logs she had just set aside. "There was an incident last night that I felt you should be made aware of."

She didn't hide her annoyance. "Yes, I've just signed the order for Bartha to be made tranquil."

He swallowed hard as he folded his gauntleted hands. "Without verification? I mean, about that. I stopped by his cell this morning on my way to prayers, and I discovered that Sergeant Tyson is malingering. He isn't nearly as badly hurt as he reported, and...I thought you should know there are rumors that Tyson was in Alrik's circle. I fear that his request regarding Bartha means that he might be intending..." He cut himself off as she gave him another irritated glare.

It hadn't even occurred to her that there were other perverts like Alrik here. The very thought that this had been going on right under her very nose was unsettling. Was the Maker testing her devotion? She took back the document and tore it up. As she walked over to lay it the smoldering fire, she snapped, "Perhaps the best solution is to recruit more females into our ranks, so that we might isolate our wards by gender and put an end to this sort of perversion, presuming that none of our male templars are inclined to abuse our male charges. Are they being made into bed-slaves as well, Cullen?"

She gave him a withering glare as he looked at the floor. "It appears to me that the real problem is our templars aren't spending nearly enough time when they're off duty in prayer and in reading The Chant, and so they've fallen victim to their baser impulses."

Cullen flushed and kept his eyes downcast, and she smiled tightly for a moment before she continued. "Even the most devout of our order has felt this struggle. Surely you must know that in the report from Ferelden that preceded your arrival, there was a mention by Knight-Commander Greagoir of his concern about your obsession with a young mage, who had been involved in an escape attempt. She was killed, wasn't she?" Now that she thought about it, she also recalled the girl's family name had been Amell. Perhaps she should go over that file again.

Cullen's reply rolled out as if he had put it to memory. "The girl in question also helped teach the children, served in the chapel regularly and was devoted to our faith, Knight-Commander, but her compassion was her downfall. She was led astray out of her concern for a false friend, who had discovered he was to be made tranquil, and who subsequently turned to blood magic out of desperation." Seeing her frown at his response, and knowing this was about to turn into another personal attack, he returned to the reason for his visit. "It was the last incident I was referring to, however."

Meredith scowled. "I was just getting to that one. It looks like more than one templar was injured?" She sighed, wrapping her hand around the pommel of her sword again. "Go on."

"Yes. A broken jaw, assorted contusions, abrasions, as well as dog bites, received while searching the _Queen Anora_ out of Ferelden, which arrived a few hours before dawn for repairs. Templar Burke thought the timing of their arrival suspicious, and so he ordered an immediate inspection of the entire ship." He waited until she had let go of her sword and gave her time to swallow a drink of her tea before he went on.

"Because a ship arrived in the middle of the night, which was coincidentally near high tide, he awakens everyone on board? Burke is an idiot, which is why he's assigned to night duty."

But after a moment she added, "Although I can see his point about illicit activities being conducted under cover of darkness, while most of the city is abed. What of it, if no mages were found on board, other than to see to it that whoever attacked our templars is punished? Was there contraband of any kind found, like those filthy novels that I had burned, which we found on that Nevarran ship?" She studied her Knight-Captain's eyes, and was sure she wasn't going to like what was coming next.

Cullen wished he had a cup of tea as well to lubricate his dust-dry mouth, but the Knight-Commander rarely offered any to them at the best of times, and he wasn't about to show her his belly by asking for a cup. "It is not a merchant ship, Knight-Commander. It's the flagship of the Fereldan navy, which had put in for repairs after being caught in that storm that just passed last evening. The templars were waylaid in their duty by a squad of Fereldan Royal Marines and their mabari hounds."

"Fereldan _navy_?" she snorted derisively. "I would expect a Fereldan ship to be full of those beasts they seem to love so much, and Burke should have as well. That dock is also probably crawling with fleas by now. But why royal marines? What else is there to tell?" Meredith frowned suspiciously.

Cullen drew himself up and met her eyes. It occurred to him as he did that this was his stance when he faced an enemy, not his commander. "I believe a squad of marines is routinely assigned to a military ship. However, these particular marines are also on board guarding Prince Nigel of Ferelden, who is on his way to Orlais. His own mabari knocked down three of our templars and bit one of them, and another mabari bit Burke. One of the marines caused the broken jaw when he was awakened suddenly and lashed out."

She snarled, "The Prince of Ferelden? He's here in Kirkwall? I should have him arrested! You know that they gave shelter to three..."

Cullen interrupted her before she could go on. "_Arrest_ him? I'd advise caution, Ma'am. Could you do so without drawing Kirkwall into conflict with Ferelden?" There were so many ways Ferelden could retaliate, the least of which was cutting off trade, and he was surprised she didn't see this too.

He tried to hide the emotions he was feeling, a mix of fear of her and for her, and concern for both his native Ferelden as well as his adopted Kirkwall. It saddened him that they used to be of one mind regarding mages and so many other things. Yet lately, she had become bitterly fanatical. But then again, so was he when he first arrived. He acknowledged that he had changed, but he also had to admit, so had she, and not for the better. Perhaps Thrask was right about her. He couldn't believe he was thinking that about his commander, though he would keep his opinion to himself, unlike Thrask. Nevertheless, he felt that he must speak his mind and steeled himself for a strong rebuke, if not a demotion.

Meredith narrowed her eyes, taken aback by her second's cheek. "I am the lawful authority in Kirkwall, in case you have forgotten, Cullen."

"_No, not quite lawful_," he thought. But he replied, "Indeed, until such a time as a new viscount is chosen by the nobility." He knew surely it was a matter of time now, though the process had dragged on for far too long, and much of that was because she hadn't approved a candidate. People hadn't forgotten that it was she who put Dumar on the throne because she could control him.

She hissed through clenched teeth, "Don't you understand that these sheep will never choose! Each family is vying for power, trying to put its own best candidate forward, or looking for financial and political gain from another, while I am forced to see to the needs of the city that they neglect. They are lucky to have us!"

Cullen was thankful for an opportunity to deflect her ire. "You are right, but eventually they _will_ choose an acceptable candidate. I was surprised that Hawke wasn't snatched up and carried to the viscount's chambers by the grateful nobles he saved that day he dueled the arishok. Perhaps the fact that he hadn't been speaks volumes about the character of the nobility in Kirkwall, or perhaps despite his heroism, they still see him as a jumped-up Fereldan outsider, despite his mother's connections to Kirkwall. There is that uncle, after all, and Hawke certainly keeps other unsavory company."

"Yes, the worst being that Rivani whore who shares his bed, when she's not in someone else's." Neither of them mentioned the open secret that Hawke was an apostate, though both had seen him cast spells out of his staff during the Qunari attack. For her part, Meredith seethed in silence because of the uproar that would be provoked if she had The Champion arrested. She believed, for now, in giving him enough rope with which to hang himself, and his more unsavory companions along with him. Yet she did not doubt that the same invitations that had been sent to her had also arrived at Hawke's estate, and probably many to the balls.

"But we were talking about the Fereldan prince." Cullen blushed, trying to forget an encounter he had once with Hawke's shameless Rivaini companion while on patrol late one night, not long after he first arrived, and changed the subject again. "To be fair, the marines were only doing their duty, protecting their liege lord, Ma'am. Most of them weren't even armored as they had been asleep in their beds, as was also the case of the prince. And from what Jensen said, the prince had the drop on him and could easily have killed him and Wiggins too." Cullen hesitated a moment before he went on. "Do you know he and his companions were the ones who liberated Kinloch Hold from Uldred's rebellion?"

Meredith took another slow drink of tea. She considered offering Cullen a cup, but decided he wouldn't be here long enough, nor did she like to encourage familiarity with her underlings. "There was a report in your file stating that two visiting Gray Wardens rescued you from the abominations' torture. They also refused your order to kill all the mages still alive, as I recall."

Cullen shook his head. "Bound as I was, and barely alive at that point, I was in no place to give orders to anyone, only urgent advice. I don't know how much longer I could have held out against Uldred's spells, and I had resigned myself to die. Their success was my only hope to escape. He urged me to hold on and even quoted a verse from _Trials_: 'Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure.' I would have expected it from the other Warden, as he had been trained as a templar before he was conscripted, but hearing it from the other gave me courage."

Meredith waved her hand in dismissal. "And yet he rejected your advice."

Cullen nodded. "He told me he wouldn't take the chance that some of the mages might be innocent, though I believe he was swayed in this by Senior Enchanter Wynne, who had fought alongside them to lead them to the harrowing chamber. She subsequently left with them to join their crusade."

Meredith's eyes glittered with anger. "She became his adviser? That would explain his refusal to hand over our escapees, if she's a blood mage! She's probably corrupted the entire Fereldan court by now!" She set her cup down so hard the remaining tea sloshed over the edge into the saucer, stood, and picked up her gauntlets.

Cullen looked at her in shock. "Senior Enchanter Wynne? She specialized in healing magic. She was certainly opinionated, but she had always been one to try to make life easier for the others in the circle, templar and mage alike. She regularly made peace between Greagoir and Irving. Besides, she turned down the offer to become a royal adviser. The Ferelden court doesn't have any mage acting in that capacity, or didn't when I left. If the crown is overly sympathetic towards mages, it is not due to the influence of one." As she stood, which was a sign this meeting was over, Cullen stepped back and bowed, though he was not free to leave until she dismissed him.

"Arrange an escort. I'm going to the docks." She spared him a half-glance as she strode to the door.

"Right away. I will accompany you myself, if you wish. I'm not sure that there is time to arrange an official reception, though Bran should be capable of throwing something adequate together. Shall I speak to him and catch up with you?" Cullen stepped aside, to let her precede him.

"Arrange a reception?" Meredith blinked at him, as if he was a speaking a foreign language that she couldn't comprehend.

"Well yes, Ma'am. The prince is a visiting head of state, even if his visit was unannounced." Cullen was perplexed. It was true that she rarely cared to follow protocol, but surely she understood the importance of a state visit with a close neighbor.

She gave him a look of disbelief and hissed, "You expect me to honor him with a reception? As I said, I'd throw him in irons if I could and demand that his queen return our mages for his release! I'm going to march down to that ship and demand he do so! You may come if you wish."

Cullen stood for a few heartbeats watching her stalk down the hall before he sighed and motioned two of the templars on duty in the hallway to follow then he rushed after her.

Kirkwall, Docks

Unaware of the dragon headed his way, Nigel sorted through his wardrobe twice before settling on what he wore most days, a black doublet and leggings made of raw silk, and under it a delicate handkerchief linen shirt with blackwork embroidery down the sleeves. This doublet was perfect for the muggy damp warmth, and bore a smallish representation of his royal coat of arms over his heart, but it wasn't big enough to draw the eye. He wished to remain anonymous as he traveled through the city, though he knew he would have to slip away if he wanted to travel without at least two royal marines alongside him. He was confident that he could easily do so, but he thought better of it as he didn't want to cause trouble for the men with their sergeant.

"It feels strange dressing myself," he murmured to Buddy, who yawned, arched his back and stretched, then cocked his head at him. "I know, I have become too used to having courtiers who see to our every need, in the morning, at least, though Owain sees to us during my evening excursions too." Buddy stretched again then ambled to the door to be let out on the deck. "Yes, I know you know the feeling." He scratched him between the ears then let the dog out and finished dressing.

Owain and Ianto had left with an escort to deliver his letters, and they hadn't returned yet. Nigel brushed his hair then braided his forelocks and looked at himself in the mirror, rubbed his chin and decided he could do with a shave. Jack had offered last night, but they both had needed sex to break the tension the minute they closed the door, after they finally got rid of the templars. It felt like they had just gotten back to sleep when the shipwrights arrived and Jack was up again. He had gone to see to the repairs and then arrange a private room at the _Blooming Rose_ for tonight.

Nigel's stomach rumbled, and he was about to go to the officers' dining room to see if there was anything left from breakfast when he heard soft footfalls outside his door, and a moment later a knock, as if someone had listened before knocking. He reached for a slender bodkin he kept inside his doublet.

"Nigel, are you awake?" Tegan called softly through the door.

Nigel chuckled as he opened it. "Awake and even dressed, my friend. Are you still on for accompanying me today? You and Bella, of course." He imagined it would be hard to separate the honeymooners.

Teagan laughed. "We can bear to be out of each others' sight for more than an hour, you know. She wants to take advantage of solid ground and look around the city with her ladies, and Byron and Ned, the ships' steward are going with them to the book sellers. She's quite mad about this tale of adventure by a local author named Varric Tethras that she has heard the crew reading, and now she wants to purchase a copy."

Nigel put his hand over his heart and gasped in mock alarm. "Not even married a fortnight, and she's reading adventure novels? Say it isn't so."

Teagan made a face and gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder. "Surely we're not that bad, are we?" At the same time he felt a little sad for his friend, who he knew hadn't experienced this honeymoon madness due to his arranged marriage. He recalled when had come upon Nigel and his elven lover unawares in a private moment before they set out from Redcliffe on the forced march to Denerim. The way they had smiled at and gently touched each other, whispering softly before they kissed had made him concerned for his friend Anora. But it was comforting to know that Nigel had known that kind of love at least once. Pity it couldn't have lasted, but that was life, and at least he and Anora seemed content.

Nigel chuckled and rubbed his shoulder. "You know you two are cute. I was about to ask you if Byron had time to give me a shave, but I'll come along and see if I can find a barber before we meet Hawke and Vallen, if we meet them at all. For all I know, they may not even be in the city. I just need collect Buddy and see if there's something left from breakfast to eat on the way."

"A royal procession then?" Sounds more like a parade." Teagan was hoping Bella wouldn't mind.

Nigel made a face as he strapped on his sword belt. "I'd rather avoid that. My guards are not wearing their Fereldan livery, and I'm going to wear my plain hooded cloak, to avoid all the fanfare. I'd dress like I was just another of the guards if I could, but I do want to look like a prince when I meet them. It's hard to find a compromise."

Teagan grinned at him. "Leaving the coronet behind then? Just a harmless group of well-armed men and a large dog escorting three ladies around the market. Bella will love that."

Having taken different paths through the winding lanes and alleys along the docks, by the time Meredith and her escort arrived at _The Queen Anora_, the prince was long gone, as was anyone who could tell her where he had gone, much to her annoyance. "He must be deliberately avoiding dealing with the actions of his underlings! There can be no other explanation!," she fumed after interrogating the hapless sailors who were on deck.

Cullen stifled a sigh. "I'm sure it's not that at all, Knight-Commander. He's probably taking advantage of a chance to get off the ship and walk around on solid ground while he can. I know I would be."

One of the sailors being interrogated saw a chance to get rid of the templars and pointed with his chin in the distance. "Here comes one of his men now, that one yonder in blue with the black curly hair." His fellow sailors had already discovered lines that needed to be tied or another part of the deck desperately in need of scrubbing, as far away from the scowling templar as they could get. The sailor she had been grilling backed away slowly the moment she was distracted. He felt a twinge of guilt for the prince's courtier, but only for a moment.

Meredith took the bait and stalked off towards Ianto, who swallowed hard as he realized a group of templars was bearing down fast on him and his escort. He couldn't imagine what they wanted. He was no mage! He cursed Owain for leaving him so he might catch up with the Orlesian elven lass he had become so barmy over. Owain always knew the right thing to say. But he was thankful that he had left him the two sailors and a burly marine, the one who broke a templar's jaw last night. It occurred to him that maybe it was the marine they were after. He took a defensive step back towards them and whispered, "This looks like trouble about last night." The other men put their hands to their weapons as Ianto bowed deeply and tried to remember his training in diplomacy.

She stopped short before him, while noting the defensive positions of the others, which was proof enough to her that they were up to no good. She put her hand on her sword's pommel and barked, "Do you serve the Prince of Ferelden? Where is your master, serah?" Cullen met the eyes of the two templars and gave the briefest of shakes of his head so that they would stand down. There was no need for a repeat of the prior night's foolishness if he could help it.

Ianto blinked stupidly. "His Highness?"

"Yes, him!" she replied impatiently. "Quit stalling!"

"I'm not? He's not here? I don't know. He must have already left?" Ianto wanted to be helpful, but this templar looked like she was out for someone's blood. "If this is about the incident last night, or early this morning, rather, he is going to put in a report with the Commander of the City Watch, and state that he believes your templars were only doing their duty when they assaulted our ship." He added, "After he meets with Ser Hawke, that is."

"_Assaulted_? _Ser_ Hawke,?" Meredith screeched. "He is NOT Ser Hawke!"

Cullen sighed softly, and the two templars beside him looked at one another. They all knew he would be Ser Hawke without a doubt if there had been a viscount to bestow that honor upon him.

Ianto took another step back, bravely fighting the urge to wipe off the speck of spittle that flew onto his cheek. "He's hoping to meet him and Watch Commander Vallen today at one, if they can come."

The two sailors grinned in relief as a curious crowd began gathering. The marine frowned at that, as that meant there were now innocent civilians to get in the way if things went bad, but then he relaxed seeing a pair of Watchmen also heading over, and one of the men in the growing crowd looked like a sturdy Fereldan lad, accompanied by a mabari.

"What business could he possibly have with Hawke and Vallen and not with me?" She demanded.

"I don't know. Perhaps he knew them in Ferelden? I'm afraid I don't even know who you are, ma'am. I'm not privy to His Royal Highness's business, I'm afraid. It's not as if he asks for my advice very often, or that I read his correspondence." He suspected Owain did, but he never would. He also felt that this templar must think pretty highly of herself, even if she was the Knight Commander, but he kept that opinion to himself. "He did also say he thought about having a shave, and he might have gone shopping, and he'll certainly visit the Chantry, if that helps." He hoped that would be enough to make them go away.

To his utter relief, it was. Meredith turned away after a final accusatory glare, gestured at her templars, and stormed off towards the steep stairs that led higher up the hill into the city. Ianto cringed for a moment watching them march off until he reminded himself that he had done nothing wrong—other than to sic that creature on his prince, he realized. "I think I need to lie down."

The marine put two fingers in his mouth and made a long, sharp whistle. As Ianto climbed the gangplank, a young dark mabari bounded eagerly onto the deck, followed by two other marines and another mabari. "Follow me. Some more bloody templars are lookin' for His Highness, and that one told them right where to find him. We best catch up, in case they mean mischief for last night."

"Never seen one yet who didn't look like they meant mischief. 'Tis all there in the eyes," one of the other marines grumbled.

By the time Meredith had stormed to Hawke's estate, where the door answered by a young dwarf who answered her demands about Hawke's whereabouts only by repeating a hearty "Enchantment!," she had worked herself into a lather. She took the steps to The Keep two at a time, and Cullen and the rest of her escort struggled to keep up with her, though they were all younger and fit. More than once Cullen wondered at her energy. She was like one possessed, but he made himself immediately banish that thought. He had seen real possession more than enough in his lifetime. Still, the thought wouldn't go away, and he cursed Thrask for planting seeds that were beginning to bear fruit.

Kirkwall, Lowtown

Meanwhile, the object of Meredith's hunt and his guards had found a barbershop just up the first set of stairs, near the shops in Lowtown. Teagan reluctantly left his bride and joined him, as Byron had been nervous about shaving him on a moving ship. Teagan had noticed a rash where his stubble had irritated his bride's lovely neck this morning, and that settled it, though she had made light of it and said she would get used to it. But he had made up his mind not to cause her any discomfort ever, if he could help it.

While on their way back to reunite with the others, Buddy's attention was captured by the tantalizing aroma of sausages cooking. Buddy halted, wagging his tail, and sniffed the air, then woofed at Nigel and trotted off in the direction of the tantalizing smell. Nigel also paused to sniff the air then exclaimed, "Sausages. Those aren't just any sausages!" His stomach rumbled in reply. Nigel followed him down an alley to the source, to the consternation of his guards. These sausages they smelled were a style unique to Highever, made of minced sheep's offal mixed with oatmeal and onions, and served alongside mashed turnips on a fresh oaten biscuit.

It wasn't a surprise then that the shopkeeper was not only a Fereldan, but she had been born and raised in Highever. "I suspected as much when I smelled your cooking, but I knew it the minute I heard the lilt in your voice," Nigel said to the shopkeeper, who had introduced herself as Maisie, as they waited.

Maisie smiled, seeing her tiny shop filled up with fairly well-dressed men and a drooling mabari and counting the potential sales in her mind. "Aye, and yer another, if I'm not mistaken, m'lord, though me speech is not posh like yours. Might ye know the young teyrn?"

"Indeed, Teyrn Fergus and I played together as boys," Nigel answered slyly. "I've been living in Denerim for the past several years though. I haven't been to Highever or had sausage like this in far too long." Nigel bought himself a generous serving, and a serving for his guards and Buddy as well.

Teagan had politely declined Nigel's offer, firmly believing, based on his visits there, that the food was the worst thing about Highever. But then he noticed that hanging behind the shopkeeper were thick black sausages, as big around as the palm of his hand, popular in Redcliffe. It turned out when he inquired that Maisie's mother had been from Redcliffe. He had a generous slice of one cut to eat there, and devoured it on the spot. He sighed happily bought a few more. "Delicious! Wait until Bella tastes this! I must buy one to bring to Alistair. Maker knows he probably hasn't had any proper Fereldan food since he went to Orlais." Nigel nodded in agreement, to busy chewing to answer.

They chatted about Highever while she served up their orders. She told him how her parents' shop had caught fire the night of Howe's treachery. Fearing both Howe's intentions and the Blight, she and her family were among the first Fereldan refugees to sail across the Waking Sea for Kirkwall. "We were were lucky. Back then I was was being wooed by a sailor, and I had snuck him into me room that night, so us two were awake when the trouble started. We woke up the rest of me family and got out in time."

She explained that her lover had been able to arrange passage for them on his merchant ship, which was sailing for Kirkwall as soon as the tide allowed, and so they arrived here well ahead of the tidal wave of Fereldan refugees. They had fled with just what they could grab—the clothes on their backs, the few valuables they owned, and a small jar containing her parents' savings, but she had also brought her grandmother's recipe box. "Not that they weren't mostly already here in our heads, me and me da," she added, tapping her temple, "but we've found a few surprises."

She offered Buddy a mabari crunch biscuit, her own invention. "We've made a fairer livin' here than many, but I really do miss Ferelden, we all do. Ma died last year from a cough she got from the foul vapors. Mayhap one day us'll save enough to pay for our passage home, and to open us a shop when we get there, but somethin' always seems to come up. Don't know where we'd go neither. Don't think I'd have the heart to go back to Highever. Too many sore memories," she added with a wistful sigh, placing her hand over her heart. "Mayhap I should just get us a mabari and marry one of the Fereldan lads here like me sister did and call it good."

Nigel nodded in agreement. "I know, I feel like that old wound is ripped open whenever I go back to Highever, yet my brother and his family are there. Have you thought of setting up shop in Denerim? There are enough of us from Highever in the city that you could make a go of it. Judging from Buddy's reaction, you could do well just selling those biscuits to mabari owners." Buddy woofed in agreement. "In fact, I want to purchase a few more sausages to give out as gifts to my hosts in Orlais." He could imagine the look on the empress's face when he presented his gift.

Teagan shot him a look that said, "You're evil."

In addition to his 'gift' for the empress, he ordered a package of her special biscuits for Buddy and more of her sausages for himself, to be delivered to the ship. As she handed him seconds, he leaned close and said, "We're sailing to Orlais or we would make room for you on our ship, but I could pay for your passage on another, if you are serious about wanting to go back."

She gasped and clasped her hands in front of her heart. "Aye I would more than anythin,' m'lord, but I couldn't impose on yer kindness. We would have to settle up our affairs here too." She looked down. "And I would really need to be sure me da still wants to go back and start all over again. I don't know if he has it in him."

He nodded in understanding and produced a coin pouch, looked through it, and handed it too her. "If you decide to take my offer, here's enough to pay for what I've ordered, and for your passage on the _Maid of Gwaren_, which is sailing for Denerim on the morrow. There's more than enough left to set up shop in Denerim."

Maisie gasped, "I couldn't, m'lord! I don't even know you or why you would do this for a stranger, even if we are both from Highever. The sausage ain't that good."

He could see in her eyes her fear that he expected more in return for his generosity, and he appreciated her frankness. "You're wrong about your sausage, and I'm serious. I'm not trifling with you. I also know what it was like to flee Highever with not much more than my mother's ring, my swords, and the armor on my back. When you deliver the rest of my order, return the balance of my coin if you change your mind. If not, then you can consider me a silent partner in your shop, and I would be more than willing to take my share of the profits in the form of sausage for my family. Have you any paper? I will write out a contract now."

He quickly wrote it out on a piece of butcher paper and initialed it, had Teagan sign it as a witness, then handed it to her. "You and your father can sign it after you've had time to talk it over."

As they left the shop, Teagan put his hand on Nigel's shoulder. "I've no doubt we'll hear the same story all over the Fereldan section of this city. We can't pay for passage home for all of them, my friend, as much as I would like to."

Nigel nodded. "I know. I'll think of something."


	17. Hard in Hightown

Usual disclaimer: The characters in this story are not owned by me, but rather by EA, Bioware, and other entities. Also, snippets of dialogue are paraphrased from DA:2, and yes, I am aware I have too many companions with Hawke, but the beauty of fanfic is we're not constrained by game mechanics.

Chapter 17 Hard in Hightown

Ned, the _Queen Anora's_ steward_,_ accompanied by Bobby, the cabin boy, reached what was to them holy ground, the inn which was the residence of Varric Tethras. Unfortunately, they were informed their dismay that Messere Tethras did not receive unannounced visitors. "That's even true of handsome young admirers such as yerself," the bartender said with a smile, as he ruffled the boy's shaggy blond hair then fished the boy a free pickle out of a crock on the bar.

He told them that there was hardly a week that went by that someone didn't come in hoping to meet Messere Tethras, and that lately some particularly rude bastards came in demanding to see him to learn when the next chapter was coming, or wanting to know which watch officer was the real star of the book.

"If he talked to 'em all, he'd never have time to write, now would he. But Messere Tethras isn't in residence anyway, himself having left with The Champion and Captain Isabela some four days hence. They might be gone for three more, or they might be gettin' back as we speak. It all depends on what mischief they be puttin' down. Last time I overheard the Captain talkin' about them fightin' a murder of Antivan crows. Not the flyin' kind, mind you. 'Spect that tale will find its way into his lordship's writing one day."

It was just as well. _The Hanged Man_ was not the kind of establishment Ned felt Bobby should be in for long at his tender age, though he had to admit that it was better than many similar establishments he had seen around Thedas during his 30 years at sea. Yet it was all he could do not to clap his hands over the wide-eyed boy's eyes to hide the antics of a barmaid as he thanked the bartender, quaffed his ale, and then pulled the boy to the door.

The bartender recommended a few shops that carried the chapters as soon as they were written, as well as previous chapters and even bound volumes. But the shop in Lowtown that the bartender was sure would have copies of the elusive Chapter 11, didn't. There were two more book and periodical shops that he had recommended, but they were all the way up in Hightown, in the marketplace near the Chantry. Ned was certain that even dressed in his best as he was, they would still be hounded by the Watch and hunted by the local cut-purses if they traveled to Hightown on their own.

He smiled hopefully at the boy. "Don't you worry, lad. Let's tag along with the arlessa." Fortunately for them, Bella and her escort hadn't made it beyond the Lowtown market. Ned and Bobby were just down the street when Bobby spotted them in the outdoor market and grunted "There!" through his last mouthful of pickle.

A short while later Owain, who was hanging back from the main group staying alert for trouble, while also taking advantage of the opportunity to watch the lovely Iolanthe's shapely _derriere_, was surprised to spot his prince, Buddy, and Teagan emerging from an alley. He put two fingers in his mouth and gave a short, sharp whistle to get his prince's attention. Nigel nudged Teagan in Owain's direction. "Over there. They certainly haven't gone very far yet."

Teagan's face lit up when he spotted his bride, as did hers when their eyes met. To him, her smile was like when the sun breaks through the clouds, bestowing its light and warmth on everything beneath it. He rushed over, swept her up in his arms, spun her around, and gave her a kiss, etiquette be damned, which she returned. Still in his arms a moment later, she looked up at him, her brow creased in concern. "Oh Teagan, I have to take you to this Fereldan shop we found."

She led them back to a shop in the slums set aside for humans (but according to Iolanthe as she looked around, still better than the conditions in the alienage), carved out of the stone that made up this part of the city. The air was tainted by fumes, which belched out from the abandoned mines and foundries deep underneath the city. A crudely lettered sign above the door read _Lirine's Fereldan Imports_. The shop carried general goods, but Bella explained, "Lirine also serves as both a pawn broker and banker, and her shop is a gathering place for Fereldans here to go for help or for news from home, or those who have just arrived and are trying to find friends and family."

Nigel paused to read a faded, crudely printed notice plastered on a stone wall, calling for the true sons and daughters of Kirkwall to rise up and defend their home from foreign invaders, the Qunari, and also the Fereldan dog lords. He quickly memorized the details. While it was old, it demonstrated the enmity against his countrymen in this city, despite their Champion being a Fereldan. He couldn't believe his people could be the plague on Kirkwall it described.

They entered the dark, dank, windowless building. Bella had learned that the lucky few Fereldans who had arrived with money had spent it on bribes, which allowed access to these slums, while others had taken what employment they could, camped outside the city walls until they had earned enough for a bribe. Those with good skills or trades had found ready work and the advance of a bribe, though they were too often still paid half of what the locals were paid, so it took them a year or more to pay back their benefactor. Some, blessed with muscle, deft hands, or skill with a blade, had gone to work for mercenaries, or smugglers and other criminals. The rest, many of whom had once been farmers and laborers, were forced to settle for whatever backbreaking and dangerous work they could find in the quarries and mines outside the city.

"They might as well be elves, no?" Iolanthe asked.

One of the few bright spots for the Fereldans here was Hawke. Bella explained that the story told was that he and his brother Carver, who like many had also arrived with little more than the clothes on their backs, had been forced to indenture themselves with a smuggler during their first year in Kirkwall in exchange for an advance of a bribe, despite their mother having been a highborn native of Kirkwall and having family in the city. "But Hawke's uncle had gambled away the family fortune, so by the time they arrived, their mother's name meant nothing. Other than being introduced to the smuggler by their uncle, everything he's gained he's gotten on his own."

The shop was much larger than it looked from the outside. They moved further in as the proprietor was busy with a line of customers. Nigel was glad for his hood when he noticed a pair of men looking Teagan over then exchanging a puzzled look, as if they recognized his face, but couldn't quite place it. There were crude tables and chairs set up on this side of the shop, made of upturned packing crates and boxes. Some helped themselves to a huge cauldron of "stew" that bubbled continuously on the hearth, as long as they either dropped a coin in a box or offered something to contribute to the pot. Those with nothing washed their hands and then washed the used bowls and spoons under the watchful eye of an ancient crone, who tended the hearth and either nodded her approval or disapproval of the offerings.

They listened to conversations in the larger second room and answered questions about current events in Ferelden after the Blight. When asked, some of the Fereldans expressed their longing to return if circumstances allowed, and said they would always consider her their home. But others had made new lives in Kirkwall, some having married local men and women, while others had decided that they would rather take their chances here, despite all the troubles, than start over again with nothing in Ferelden, while admitting they had next to nothing now after years of hard work. Nigel and Teagan looked at each other, and whispered together about how they could best help their former countrymen besides the temporary solution of dropping offerings in the box.

Buddy caught the attention of a man and a woman seated against the far wall in the common room, accompanied by their own mabaris. The man eyed the dog critically as he paged through a homemade booklet spread out on their table, paused to read an entry, then looked back at the dog before shaking his head and going on to another entry. After a few fruitless searches, he approached the hooded but well-dressed, well-armed, and well-guarded man beside the dog and tipped his hat.

"Good day, Messere. Name is Gordon Mac Gordon, and I have to say 'tis a fine example of the breed ye got there. He's not one of the locals because I keep a record of all of 'em, so ye must be newly arrived from home. He's quite a handsome hound. I'd guess to look at him that he was bred out of good King Cailan's own pack. Yer a lucky one, since I heard many of 'em met the same fate as our poor king."

Nigel smiled and gave Buddy a pat. "That's very observant of you, Gordon, and it's very diligent of you to care to keep an account of the mabari breed. You're right. My friend here chose me to be his companion when my family was in Denerim for the king's wedding, when we were both pups."

Buddy barked in agreement, and Nigel reached over to scratch his head. "We survived that terrible night at Ostagar, and since the Blight ended, my friend here has been doing his part to help Queen Anora rebuild the royal pack, which she has done to honor King Cailan's memory."

Buddy woofed again. Nigel added with pride, "In fact, he's the sire of the pup that recently chose the queen. Might I see your book?"

"Is that so? Her own mabari? Good on Queen Anora!" Gordon looked Buddy over with renewed interest, and the dog seemed to grin back at him with pride as he handed over the book. Teagan stood beside Nigel and read around his shoulder.

The woman beside Gordon cried, "Did you all hear that? A mabari pup has chosen the queen! All hail good Queen Anora and her new mabari!" A chorus of voices echoed her cry, and Nigel joined in proudly.

He turned back to the book, filled with not only descriptions of size, color and markings, but which also contained sketches of some of the dogs. He told Gordon that it was an impressive work. "I happen to know that the royal Master of Hounds is in need of another assistant, if you ever have a mind to return to Ferelden. The scholar Brother Genitivi has also told me he would like to make a study of the breed, and I am certain he would want to see your book."

Gordon tipped his hat again, having confirmed his speculation that the hooded man was a nobleman. Yet at the same time, he wasn't sure whether he really had the authority to get him the position. "Bronwyn, me missus, and I have thought of goin' back with our hounds over the years, but we heard West Hills was tainted, and the bann's sons are gone. We got out just in time ourselves. But if I had somethin' sure to go to, where us _and_ our hounds would be welcome..." He tried to meet Nigel's eyes while his wife nodded vigorously in agreement, as Buddy and their dogs sniffed each other. Bronwyn couldn't help but note how their dogs had seemed to lower their heads in submission to the strange mabari, and the lines of white in his fur growing out of where the skin had been scarred in many fights.

Nigel smiled at them. "Have no fear, good ser. I serve the queen, and I know the Master of Hounds well. I'll write you a letter of recommendation. That, your book, and your fine hounds are you will need."

Teagan added, "I know that the Arl of Redcliffe has been thinking it's about time he puts someone in charge of his small mabari pack as well."

Gordon and his wife looked at each other, and she answered for the both of them. "I'll go fetch some paper if you'll write a letter too, Messere; you have our thanks. Not many ships make port here these days, so if there be a ship bound for Denerim in port with room for us and our babies here, us four can decide where to go once we're on board, or once we land. There's not much time to pack, but we don't have much to pack anyway."

On the other side of the room a woman's voice called out, "Bella?"

Bella turned turned to face a gaunt, dark haired woman wearing a threadbare, patched greenish-gray dress that might have been black in better days, her cheeks sunken, and her face creased by worry. She couldn't help squinting as she tried to reconcile a name with the face. "Molly? Molly Tapper?" They were of an age and had played together when they were girls, but this woman bore little resemblance to the woman she had known. Her family, Bella remembered, had loaded their wagon and fled the day after the first undead attacks in Redcliffe.

"Aye, 'tis me. I know, the years ain't been kind to me. But you look like you done right by yourself." She looked Bella up and down, noting her clothing was far finer than anything she used to wear when working for Lloyd serving drinks.

Bella blushed. "I worked hard to make a go of Lloyd's tavern after he was killed, and last year I was elected mayor. My sister made this dress for my swearing-in ceremony." She was glad she hadn't worn one of the new gowns Teagan had bought for her and added, as if she felt she needed to explain, "I'm also newly married, and my husband is taking me on a honeymoon."

Molly arched an eyebrow. Bella had indeed done well if her husband had the time and the gold to take her away, and she couldn't help feeling jealous at the difference in their lots as she noted the human and elven women, obviously servants, standing behind her. If only her family hadn't run off! She used to be beautiful once, and it might have been her with a rich husband and two servants. "Surely the Maker didn't bring you here to this forsaken place if He is blessin' you, or your man either," Molly groused, looking around at the crowd as she waited her turn in line to fill the basket on her arm with food that had either been donated or gleaned earlier in the day before it spoiled from the cast offs in Hightown.

Bella explained about the storm that forced their ship to Kirkwall for repairs, and added, "My husband lived in The Marches as a boy, so we also had been thinking of visiting his kin and friends here. How are the rest of your family?"

Molly told a tale which was all too familiar to those within earshot, who naturally were doing their best to eavesdrop. Between the undead, the threat of a civil war, and the rumors about the blight, her parents had decided they must abandon their home and strike out for the nearest port to find a ship that was heading anywhere, as long as it was outside of Ferelden, which seemed to have been cursed by The Maker. They had talked of going back home after word reached Kirkwall of the defeat of the archdemon, but at first they were afraid to believe it, and then something always seemed to ruin any chance, until they eventually gave up.

"You remember my brothers? Tom's a sell-sword, and little Tim's just joined him, so we hardly ever see either of 'em. A mine cave-in broke one of my pa's legs, and he has only worked off and on since then sortin' the ore that comes out of the carts, and that's only because Hawke became part owner of the mine and told the Orlesian bastard who owns the rest of it to find somethin' for him to do. My ma took sick from the vapors and died, leaving me and pa with my two little sisters to raise as best we can. I get work a few days a week at _The Hanged Man_, but 'tis mostly cleaning and hardly ever servin' drinks, and 'tis hard to support us all on that." Her face darkened as she continued. "There's even been times when I've had to make some fast coin down at the docks, but I end up paying half what I make for protection."

Bella reached for her coin pouch and remembered that Mrs. G. was carrying it for her, as was the custom for a woman of her station. "Let me give you something, Molly." She saw the struggle of emotions on Molly's face, ranging from gratitude, to shame, to embarrassed anger, then to hopefulness as Bella nodded at Mrs. G.

Bella continued as she took her pouch, "Your house is still empty. Some on the village council had a mind to seize empty properties and sell 'em off or pull 'em down, but the arl decided that we should wait a full ten years and in the meantime post notices at chantries all over Ferelden to see if the owners might come back. There's a ship in port leaving for Denerim tomorrow. If you want to come home, you could work for me at the tavern. It's called _The_ _Warden's Rest _now. Wouldn't it be good for your father to get out of this foul damp and back out in the fresh air and sunshine on Lake Callanhad? Your sisters should be old enough by now to help him as good as your brothers ever did. What do you think?"

Molly's face lit up with hope, which quickly faded. "I'm game, but it'll be hard to get my pa to leave without getting word to my brothers, and for my sisters too. Emmie will go with me, but Mari has one of the dock workers sniffin' around her, young as she is. You know how girls are. Mayhaps the best thing for her is to get her on that ship, whether she will go or no. It's all so fast, I can't think!"

Bella sighed softly, overcome by a sense of urgency she couldn't explain. "I just have this funny feeling, Molly. Here, it's enough to pay for your way all the way to Redcliffe. Take the money anyway, whether you decide to go tomorrow or no, but please, please, talk it over with your pa and your sisters today. There might not be another ship leaving anytime soon." She almost added, "In time," and wondered where _that_ came from.

Teagan noticed Bella giving a small pouch to a woman who looked vaguely familiar, and he excused himself from Nigel, who was deep in conversation with Gordon and his wife about the most desirable traits of the mabari. He came up beside Bella and put his arm around her shoulders and smiled at Molly. "Maker's blessing. I think I remember you from Redcliffe village, miss."

Molly paled and bowed her head and dipped into a curtsey as soon as she recognized him. "Bann Teagan of Rainsfere is your husband?" Curious eyes turned to see who she was talking about.

Teagan didn't correct her, so neither did Bella. "Bella is indeed my beautiful bride, whom I finally persuaded to marry me just last week, against her own better judgment."

Bella turned to him. "I have been encouraging Molly and her family to come back to Redcliffe."

Molly couldn't help but stare at the pouch in her hand before she stuffed it safely away inside her tightly-laced bodice. "More than encouraging, your Grace."

He beamed at Bella. "You told her about the ship? I encourage you to take it as well. Now there's a group of citizens of Redcliffe who have been staying at the arl's Denerim estate conducting trade negotiations. If you leave tomorrow, you should arrive in Denerim in plenty of time to travel with their caravan. Do you remember Liam Watson? Tell him you saw us here on our way to Orlais, and I said I would greatly appreciate it if he helped find a cart for your family."

Molly curtsied deeply again. "I don't know how to thank you, my lord, and my lady. I best get home and talk to my pa into getting' us on that ship. You've talked me into it!" As she left, she paused in the doorway to look at them again, as if she had to reassure herself they were really there, and that it hadn't been a dream.

Teagan kissed Bella on the cheek. "That was very kind of you, my love. I only wish I had brought enough gold with me to charter a ship to take all of them home." He looked over at Nigel, who had finished sanding his letter and had taken his leave of Gordon and Bronwyn, who gasped as she read the signature on the bottom. Nigel winked and motioned her to silence. Teagan whispered to Bella as Nigel approached, "That gives me an idea."

"What gives you an idea?" Nigel asked softly as he and Buddy joined them. "We must go now if we're going to meet Hawke and Captain Vallen by One."

Teagan arched an eyebrow. The man's hearing was almost as sharp as his dog's. "It's about the ship. I'll explain on the way."

The three of them left Bella and the rest of their entourage in the Hightown Market. Though Bella no longer had the heart for shopping, she herself pointed out that having a great mob of them there at the meeting wouldn't allow for privacy. A relieved Ned wasted no time in pointing out to the arlessa one of the bookseller's shops which had been recommended to him. "Over yonder's just the place to pass the time, your Ladyship."

"That is perfect. We shouldn't be long." Teagan gave Bella a kiss as he left her, then caught up with Nigel, Buddy, and two of his guards, who were already walking across the marketplace. Owain followed Teagan, staying behind the main group, reluctant to leave the fair Iolanthe, but knowing there was a time for lust and a time for duty.

Yet Hawke hadn't arrived. Instead, a group of templars stepped out of the tapestries that lined the walls outside the viscount's audience chamber and blocked their way, led by a stern-faced middle-aged blond woman, who pointed at him and barked, "Halt! I will have a word with you."

Nigel's guards immediately stepped in front of him, hands on their weapon hilts, and scowled threateningly at the templars, more than ready for another go at them. "That's _Your Highness_, serah," one of them snapped as he glared at Meredith.

Nigel lowered his hood, and he muttered, "So much for secrecy."

Owain slipped into the shadows out of sight of the templars while Teagan stepped up beside his prince. Buddy hunkered down in a pre-charge posture on the other side and growled a warning as Nigel forced his most charming smile. "It's quite all right, men. I always have time for the guardians of our faith. Is this about the unfortunate incident on my ship this morning, m'lady? It was clearly a misunderstanding on all parts. In fact, I was hoping for an audience with you, Knight-Commander, before we leave, to request any assistance Kirkwall might be able to give us, in the event that Orlais invades Ferelden. For The Marches were once part of the Orlesian Empire as well, and there are those in Orlais who would see their empire restored to all of its former glory."

He sized up the opposition—three templars besides the leader. They had passed city watch members a floor below on their way up the last set of stairs, but they were too far away to intervene on either side. He nodded as he recognized Cullen in the rear of the group, who nodded back, his face flushed scarlet. Nigel took an account of the insignia on Cullen's armor before saying, "Knight-Captain Cullen, is it? You're looking well. It is good to meet another son of Ferelden here."

Meredith shot a glare at Cullen. "Unfortunate incident?" Meredith scolded, wagging her finger, "No, I am here because three of our mages have escaped to Ferelden, and you have intervened to protect them, as if it is your right to do so!"

Nigel was taken aback. He knew enough of her by description and reputation that he had recognized the Knight Commander. She was acting in place of the viscount until a new one was chosen, and clearly considered herself Nigel's equal as a head of state, if not superior due to her position in the Chantry. He responded with the truth in a calm, measured voice, as if speaking to an aggressive animal. "As a matter of fact, it is my wife's right, Knight Commander, as she has been duly approved queen of Ferelden by our Landsmeet, under the Maker's guidance, and it is my right as well as her consort. Sovereign rights go along with the titles and the pointy hats."

Meredith glared at him, barely containing her anger. "Then perhaps when Ferelden next chooses a queen, it will be one who is wiser and takes her duty to the Maker seriously!"

He knew his last bit had been flippant, but Nigel could have back-handed her, and it was all he could do to maintain his veneer of calm as he forced thoughts of revenge for not only the insult to his wife, but also for her blasphemy, to the back of his mind. His voice grew cold."I assure you, my wife takes her duty to the Maker very seriously, as do I. He has shown his approval of us many times, in very many ways, many of which are public knowledge. Therefore, I might ask, who are you to pass judgment in place of the Maker because we haven't yielded to templar fanaticism?"

"Fanaticism? How dare you! And you claim to serve the Maker!" Meredith shrieked before she turned and stalked off, glaring at a group waiting at the next landing down. Owain followed in the shadows a few steps so that he had a view of the retreating templars in case they came back or lingered below.

Half way down that flight of stairs, she turned her head and shouted, "You shall get no help from Kirkwall if I have anything to say about it!" Cullen gave Nigel the same sad, resigned look he had given him all those years ago before he had led his party up the stairs to the harrowing chamber to face Uldred, but Nigel couldn't help but notice he also gave his commander's back the same look.

Teagan leaned close and muttered, "That went well, and I believe this is Messere Hawke and his companions. That's the Champion of Kirkwall's traditional colors he's wearing. I wonder how much of that they witnessed."

Nigel said softly, "Enough to make things awkward, which is why they're hanging back. I never seriously expected that I would get any help from her anyway; it was an excuse to redirect the conversation. She appears to do little enough for her own people, and would probably welcome an invasion of chevaliers in Kirkwall if they shared her views on annihilating mages. It might be a good idea for the captain to set sail as soon as repairs are completed and the tide allows and meet us at one of the smuggler's coves outside of the city. I'm sure Jack knows of a likely one or three."

Teagan looked worried. "You're thinking the Knight-Commander might try something, such as detaining us?"

He whispered, "The though did cross my mind." He smiled at the group slowly approaching. " Ah, but this must be Messere Hawke, his handsome mabrari, and Watch Captain Vallen with...Maker's breath, is that you, Anders?" He couldn't believe how he had changed! His breath caught for a heartbeat before he continued. "And this vision of naughtiness is Captain Isabela!" Isabela smirked at him and then looked Teagan up and down lasciviously.

Hawke and his party slowly walked up the remaining stairs. Nigel whispered to Teagan as he gazed at the lightly armored man, "He certainly doesn't look like an apostate mage. He's too tanned to have spent his years inside studying tomes."

Too handsome to spend his days locked up inside, he might have added. Even at this distance his jade green eyes stood out in vivid contrast with his tanned skin, and were his most striking feature, though the rest of his features, especially his strong jaw and high cheekbones, were in Nigel's mind perfect examples of male beauty. He wore his long dark hair pulled back off his face. Something about his complexion and the way he wore his thick hair and his full beard reminded Nigel of a young Duncan, and he wondered if like Duncan, he might have Rivaini blood.

Teagan stepped forward and said, "Thank you for coming, Champion. Allow me to present His Highness, Prince Nigel of Ferelden."

Nigel extended his hand after Hawke bowed. "And this is my good friend, Arl Teagan of Redcliffe. Thank you for coming."

On Hawke's left, the tall, strongly-built woman he assumed was Watch Captain Vallen was wearing the regular uniform of the city watch. Only the insignia on her left arm revealed her rank, and Nigel was impressed that she wasn't wearing ceremonial armor, beautiful but useless in a real fight. That told him much about her. Her ginger hair was tied back in a simple braid. His first impression was that her face was too long and her jaw too heavy for her to be called beautiful, but she was handsome. Yet Nigel decided after only a moment's reflection that she had the most amazing almond-shaped green eyes he had ever seen—warm, calm, loving, and motherly at the same time. One could get lost in those eyes, he decided, and then he remembered having seen her before, at Ostagar.

She immediately dropped to one knee and lowered her eyes. "Greetings, Your Highness. It is an honor to meet you again. I fought at Ostagar, and I remember you and your mabari, walking through the encampment looking for the Highever troops. What happened at Ostagar was a great tragedy, and what happened to your family was as well."

Nigel took her hand and drew her to her feet. "Thank you. Indeed it was, but the man responsible for both the coup in Highever and for poisoning the mind of the Hero of River Dane so that he turned against our king has paid for his crimes with his life."

Aveline got right to the point. "We...That is, I couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation. Is there to be another war with Orlais?"

Nigel was still holding her hand and gazing into her eyes, and he flushed and let it go. "Not if I can help it. I'm on a diplomatic mission to Orlais now in the hope that I can persuade Empress Celene and like-minded Orlesians to rein-in the parties itching for war. If I was still had any rank in the Wardens, I'd find out who the chief troublemakers are and conscript the lot of them, but I doubt Stroud will agree." He smiled slyly. "Nevertheless, I had a small hope of persuading you to return to our service."

Aveline knitted her brows. "I was in Orlais several months ago on my honeymoon, and there was a conversation about that very thing I overheard while visiting a distant cousin's _salon_, which stopped when they realized a Fereldan was present. I had thought it was just an idle conversation." She met his eyes and continued. "I am truly flattered, Your Highness. Ferelden will always be my home, but I've recently married a native of Kirkwall, and my Watch also needs me." Aveline's smile was kindly, and Nigel decided it was almost as beautiful as her eyes. And those perfectly adorable freckles!

Nigel smiled back warmly. "He's a lucky man, but it seems to me that you're married to both. However, if you should change your mind, you and your husband would both be welcome in our service. Could you spread the word that as many of our citizens as want to return would be welcomed home, as soon as I figure out a way to get them there."

He turned his attention to Hawke. "Is it the same for you, Champion?"

Hawke replied diplomatically. "Ferelden will always be my home, Your Highness, but I have a responsibility to Kirkwall now. Is Meredith's accusation about the escaped mages true?"

"It is. We granted them sanctuary as long as they went to the circle." Nigel ignored Anders' indignant snort. "We have heard reports about the high number of abominations which have plagued Kirkwall, and rumors that mages were being made tranquil after completing their harrowing, against Chantry law. Therefore, we gave them sanctuary but thought it best for safety's sake that they be examined by Irving and others before they were allowed among our people."

Hawke shot a look at Anders that urged him to control himself. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but it sounds as if they traded one templar prison for another. And I can tell you the rumors about mages being made tranquil are true."

Nigel shook his head emphatically. "While mages are still educated and housed at Kinloch hold, I like to think it's not the prison that other circle towers in Thedas are, or that Anders knew. Templars are merely guardians there now, not warders. Young mages are not to be made tranquil unless the senior enchanters agree they are a threat to themselves and others, or unless they themselves request to be made so, and again, even then the senior enchanters must agree with their reasons."

He took a breath and studied their faces, though Anders kept his down. "One of the mages in question has already joined an expedition to study the dragon cult at Honeleath. One has begun teaching in the Creationist school, and the third signed on with a trade caravan traveling to Orzammar, where she plans to join the new circle there, started by a dwarven woman who studied at Kinloch."

Anders met his eyes and demanded, "Is that so?" A moment later, he dropped his aggressive gaze. "That was Dagna. I remember her arrival before I escaped the second to the last time. I thought she was cute, but scary the way she soaked up knowledge like a dry sponge."

Nigel agreed. "And with no hope of being able to use the magic she was studying. I would like to think that by the time my daughters are grown that children will no longer be dragged away from their families by scowling templars. We insist they are are to be treated as students, not captives. Already, families are allowed to write and visit their children when they can. Before I go to my Calling, I intend to create a university in Ferelden with instructors such as Brother Genitivi from the Chantry as well as scholars from the Fereldan Circle, teaching students both with and without magical ability, and not only the children of the nobility, who may or may not be worthy, but any Fereldan child, human or elven, who shows promise."

"Sounds very sweet, but I would suspect that children are not dragged away unless they resist," Anders said bitterly.

Nigel sighed. "Yes, unfortunately, but I can see a day when children with magical ability will be seen as blessings to their families and to Ferelden rather than threats, and the family will be proud to send them to the Circle for their education. I would like them to use their gifts in service to Ferelden. We already have a mage named Zinn who works at a health clinic for the poor in the Chantry in Denerim. His templar escort has become his secretary, and he serves as an example to both the Chantry and the people he treats that mages need not be feared, unless they give cause."

Hawke folded his arms across his chest. "No offense, but it still sounds like something like a gilded cage. Not every mage who doesn't grow up in the Circle is doomed to become an abomination, Your Highness. There are probably more of them, of us, than you think. Templars can hardly search in every village or farmstead in Thedas. If they have a proper teacher, and the love and encouragement of their family, they can do quite well."

Nigel nodded, though he was too much of an Andrastean to agree completely. "Indeed, if they have a _proper_ teacher, such as your father. You and your sister were fortunate in that regard. But how about having the Witch of the Wilds as a mentor? How many do you think there are whose gift has never developed because they had no one to teach them, or who have given control to a demon because they didn't know any better? I certainly don't want to create another Tevinter, so we must have some control..."

He looked down the stairs. "But if you ask me, the biggest threat to Kirkwall just left. In my short time here, I've seen enough to lead me to believe that Kirkwall is the opposite of Tervinter, and I'm sure I don't know the half of it. I never thought I would see a place where the templars treat mages worse than the Qunari do. I can see that Kirkwall needs its Champion, for now," He said in a barely audible voice, "but if you should have need, Ferelden will always welcome you home. That goes for Anders as well."

Hawke nodded and shook his hand. "Thank you." Anders crossed his arms, muttering to himself.

Isabela appeared bored at the discussion of mages and templars, and looked around as if searching for something to occupy herself. Nigel noticed her cast a haughty smirk at Owain hiding in the shadows. The years had been good to her. She had put on a bit of weight, but in all the right places. She wasn't wearing the leathers she wore last time he saw her either. Instead, she was wearing thigh-high boots with what could almost be considered a sleeveless tunic, so low-cut in front and slit so high up her thighs as to nearly render it useless for modesty, with only a wide belt holding it from completely exposing her silken small clothes.

"Are you going to argue all day? I can think of better things to do." She swayed past Aveline and slipped between Hawke and Nigel, put her arms around the latter, gave him a very friendly kiss and a familiar squeeze, the kind that made him instantly hard, and winked before stepping away. His marine guards were too startled to react, something he knew he had to discuss with them. She purred, "Well again, Your Highness. You're moving up in the world, not at all the boy you were back then. Like a good wine, you've improved with age."

Aveline muttered under her breath, "Is there anyone in Thedas you haven't bedded?"

Oddly enough, Nigel was sure there no malice in the utterance, and he was glad for them changing the subject. "Isabela, you're lovely as ever. It appears you've decided to sacrifice protection for distraction." He noticed embroidery in gold across the left breast of her tunic that demanded, "Felicitate me!" He felt a moment's pity for Hawke, but at the same time, he felt compelled to obey.

Isabela whispered fondly to Aveline, "You and Donnic had your chance, big girl."

Nigel pretended he hadn't heard that and nodded at Anders to change the subject again. "Interesting look, Anders, though I don't know if black is your color. I had heard a rumor that you were no longer with the Gray Wardens."

Anders smiled sardonically. "I heard the same rumor about you."

Nigel shrugged. "Killing an archdemon and a powerful sentient darkspawn has its privileges, as does having a wife who has the power to banish the Wardens from Ferelden again at the stroke of a pen. However, I do have to make an appearance when I'm in Orlais. I thought you were happy at the Vigil. What happened? Sigrun said she was away when you left."

Seeing him this close, Anders was paler and thinner than Nigel remembered. He had deep shadows under his eyes, and his palor, sunken cheeks, and a prominent worry-line between his eyebrows made him look years older than Nigel knew he was. If he didn't know better, Nigel might have thought that the taint was catching up with him. There was something unsettling about his black robe with the raven feather-covered pauldrons. Alistair would have taken one look and described it as "malificar-y."

Anders looked down and made a face that was part little-boy pout and part angry frown. "I won't even call him Commander, but your _replacement_ made me give up Ser Pounce, so I had a friend in what remained of the village take him and left the next night. He said he made me soft."

Nigel was incredulous. " Bloody Orlesians! Thank The Maker Sigrun is in charge now! I gave you that kitten, and you were anything but soft under _my_ command!"

He shook his head in disgust at the waste and ignored Isabela's snicker as she glanced back at Anders and muttered, "So that's why _I've_ never been able to get you hard."

But he smiled inwardly at Aveline's response: "No, you've visited Anders' clinic too often as a patient for that to happen, whore." Nigel liked Aveline already.

A distance behind them stood a handsome, well-dressed, clean-shaven dwarf, city-raised and probably city-born, Nigel surmised. He had also noticed Owain to the side, and was acting as Hawke's rear guard so he could see anyone coming up the stairs. He wore a golden medallion on a thick chain around his neck, and his silk tunic was open halfway down his muscular chest, revealing a thatch of blond hair. Normally Nigel didn't care for that much body hair, but it looked so thick and silky that he had a sudden compulsion to run his fingers through it. The dwarf was holding a crossbow in his arms gently, as if caressing a lover, while he divided his attention between where the templars had retreated and Nigel's group.

Nigel was about to say they should go collect Bella and meet Captain Jack to arrange an alternate pick-up spot when Teagan approached the dwarf and asked, "Are you by chance Messere Tethras, the writer? I would offer my hand, but I see yours are quite occupied by that fascinating crossbow. I've never seen the like, even among the troops that came up from Orzamar."

Varric bowed his head to the Fereldan noble then smiled lovingly at his crossbow. "Thank you. Bianca is one of a kind."

Teagan wanted to ask to see it, but seeing how Varric held it, he thought better of it. "The ship's crew have been taking turns reading the chapters of your book aloud in the common room, and my bride has heard them and has become quite a fan. She's going to be very sorry she didn't have the opportunity to meet you! She's waiting for us down the hill at a bookseller's shop, hoping to find a copy of _Hard in Hightown_ to take home to Redcliffe, and the ship's steward is with her trying to find a copy of Chapter 11 for the crew."

Varric grinned, mentally counting the coins from the promise of a new market in Ferelden. "Well, shit! I decided to remove Chapter 11 before the first volume went to the printer because I decided it didn't fit the narrative, so I had the unsold copies of it pulled from the booksellers. I didn't realize there was a demand, but I'd be happy to get some copies from my rooms at _The Hanged Man_ for your ship's crew. Or maybe they would rather have the whole book? I also had Volume II, _Siege Harder_, printed a month ago. The least I could do is to join you and autograph your lovely bride's copy for her."

"I would be honored!" Teagan exclaimed before he turned to Nigel. "If I may have your leave, Your Highness."

Nigel nodded and added with a blush, "I have been listening in to the sailors and have become a fan as well. So much better than reading dry Orlesian law. Teagan, could you get me a copy, one for the girls, for when they're older, of course, and also a copy to take back to Sister Verity? I know for a fact that she doesn't spend all her time outside of the clinic reading the Chant, and I believe she and Zinn both will enjoy it."

He grinned as Owain muttered, "Sister Verity?"

"Indeed. I've seen her books." Nigel motioned his manservant to him. "And Owain, could you go downstairs and let us know if that oh-so-delightful templar is waiting to clap us in irons so we can find another exit, or someplace to wait until it grows dark." Owain nodded and descended the stairs slowly, keeping close to the wall.

Aveline bowed again. "If she should be lying in wait, Your Highness, I can let you out from a hidden door inside the Watch headquarters."

Nigel kissed her hand. "Thank you, dear lady. And if you should happen to change your mind about returning home, I promise you have a place in the palace guard. I think my youngest daughter Moira will take to you and your great sword straight away. She's not quite four, but she's very keen on mabaris and swords."

Aveline smiled kindly again. "I can guess she's a tall, sturdy girl, with quite a name to grow into. I know all about that. If I should change my mind, I would be honored." She bowed then turned strode down the center of the stairs.

Teagan and one of the marines followed with Varric, who had been explaining how Bianca worked. "I have my own eyes and ears, Your Grace. I'll see that the way is made clear for you and your bride from the bookseller back to your ship. Blondie, you want to tag along?" Anders nodded and joined them, knowing better to try to get to Darktown alone with Meredith foaming at the mouth worse than usual.

"Thank you, I would appreciate that greatly for Bella's sake more than for my own."

Isabela took Nigel's arm and grinned wickedly. "It seems we have you all to ourselves now, other than your escort. Are you going back to your ship? If not, I'm sure Hawke wouldn't mind if you came by his place for a reunion, and the dogs look like they still want to talk." Indeed, the two mabari were off to the side, past the sniffing stage and making little grunts and whines as if they were communicating somehow.

The woman knew him too well. However, one look at Hawke told him that there were pleasures he would go along with for the sake of his love that he wouldn't ever seek out on his own. Besides, he did have plans. "Thank you, but our Captain Jack has arranged a bath and entertainment for us at _The Blushing Rose_, or something like that."

Hawke let out a soft, grateful sigh. "_The Blooming Rose_. It's not too far."

Isabela quirked an eyebrow as she continued to squeeze Nigel's arm. "Pity. Wait. Captain Jack. Could it be...?"

Nigel chuckled. "Around forty? Handsome, keen blue eyes, messy brown hair? I'm sure he's the same one who captains the _Queen Anora_, and besides, he recognized your name. I suspect we may be subject to another late-night raid by the templars if we stay, so I was of a mind to have him leave port as soon as he is able then wait for us at a hidden cove close by. But I'm sure you know a likely place as well or better than he would."

Owain appeared at the bottom of the stairs and whistled to signal the way was clear.

Hawke frowned in concern. "I wouldn't put it past Meredith, Your Highness. That was the angriest I've ever seen her, but her anger is becoming a daily occurrence. I've that she has headaches. Perhaps you could send for your captain and wait at my estate. If there wasn't so much tension in the city, I'd like to arrange a reception to honor your visit to Kirkwall."

He knew Meredith certainly wouldn't have, even before this incident. She seemed to care nothing for diplomacy. If he had thought about it, he would have asked Bran to arrange something. He whispered, "There's a passage hidden in my lowest cellars that will take you to Darktown, where Anders or I could show you a tunnel that leads out of the city and along the coast. 'Bela and I could go along to see you safely delivered."

Isabela chuckled. "It's settled then. Your young man there can find Jack at the _Rose_ and bring him to us. Knowing Jack, he's already found handsome male company for himself and arranged someone for you."

As they walked down the stairs towards the Watch office, with Isabela in the middle and holding the arms of both men, while Owain and the marine kept a discreet distance, she turned to Nigel. "This reminds me of that night at _The Pearl_ all those years ago. What a time we had when we went back to my ship! How strange that I haven't seen any of you since then, except the good-looking virgin who waited on deck with your dog was here with the Wardens during the Qunari attack."

"Alistair? I wonder what they were doing here. Oghren said Nate Howe had come to The Marches on Warden business as well. I do sense something off about this city, but I'm not sure it's related to darkspawn." It would be good to see Alistair again when he got to Orlais. He tried to change the subject. "Your brother is a Warden, is he not?"

Hawke frowned. "Carver. Yes, he was poisoned by the darkspawn taint when we were in the Deep Roads. Fortunately, Anders knew where we could find some Gray Wardens, and he survived."

Isabela squeezed their arms again, as if to scold them for interrupting. "I was saying, and then just a few weeks ago, we were asked to meet a Sister Nightingale here late at night. Imagine my surprise to learn she was that fiery Orlesian redhead who was with you then. She seemed rather embarrassed to see me again, though I can't imagine why."

"Leliana?" Nigel glanced at Hawke. He guessed from his expression that Hawke wouldn't have objected to having _her_ join them at his place. "I was hoping to see her while I'm in Val Royeaux. She's returned to the Chantry and serving The Divine now. Some say she's become the Divine's Left Hand, using her skills as a bard in Her service."

Hawke agreed. "She said as much. Perhaps that's why she seemed embarrassed to be reminded of her past, my love."

Isabela chuckled. "Lover, I've heard stories about Orlesian bards. A small orgy in my cabin is the least thing she should be embarrassed about if they're even half true. But I've forgotten the point I was trying to make."

Hawke chuckled. "I've noticed you have that tendency, love. What was your point?"

Isabela gave him a look like she wasn't sure how she should take that as she remembered where she had been going. "I was just saying that it's strange that I hadn't seen any of you in forever, and now I've encountered the other three of you within the past month."

Nigel froze, and his reply was strangled. "All three of us? You've seen my Zevran?" He looked stricken. "How is he?"

Hawke was relieved though looking at his face, he felt regret for his prince at hearing about what must be his lost love. The rumors said that he paid a high price for ending the civil war so they could get on with the Blight, but he had assumed he gave up Sister Nightengale.

For her part, Isabela was silently scolding herself for her bad habit, or bad luck, of saying the wrong thing at the worst possible time. She had been sure she could persuade Hawke to let the prince join them for a bit of fun. And the prince looked so hurt that she felt she needed to comfort him, which was unlike her. "I'll tell you about him when we reach Hawke's place."


	18. Small Talk

Usual disclaimer: Most of the characters in this chapter are not mine and are owned by Eaware ,among others. However, I do freely claim their Cousland Noble rogue and his dog as my own.

Chapter 18 Small Talk

As they walked down the steep stairway towards Hawke's estate, Nigel wondered aloud if Captain Vallen ever made her new recruits run drills up and down them. "Our palace guard trainees are required to make a timed run to the top of Fort Drakon and back, fully armed and armored, in order to complete their training."

Hawke looked back up the stairs and grinned. "Yes she does, Your Highness. She also occasionally borrows Bob and subjects them to a mabari charge to encourage the stragglers."

Nigel observed that Hawke's teeth were brilliantly white when he spoke, framed by his dark, thick beard. Looking around as they walked, Nigel supposed that Hightown would be beautiful to those who had never seen any other city. Thinking of things to say while they walked, he mentioned how the stone houses reminded him of Orzammar, if not for the afternoon sun overhead and the neat planter boxes surrounded by stone benches in the centers of the squares. Plants, other than an astonishing array of fungi, were a rarity in the dwarven city, except in the nobles' estates.

Hawke gestured around them. "You can probably tell that much of the city was built by dwarves for the Tevinter Imperium ages ago. There's still a dwarven merchant district not far from my home."

"Decorated by statues of paragons? These buildings would not be out of place in Orzamar's diamond district." Nigel wasn't surprised.

Hawke paused to eye a pair of templars facing them in the distance, trying to determine whether they were simply on duty in the Chantry Square, or if they were watching for them on Meredith's orders. Meredith had tripled the templar presence in Hightown after she "temporarily" assumed control of the city. These days there seemed to be more templars than guards present.

Nigel made a show of following the handsome apostate's eyes towards the templars, as if he had just noticed them, though he had been watching them as well. At times like this he was grateful for Leliana's training in seeing without appearing to be watching. "Meredith employs more templars than I have seen anywhere, even Val Royeaux. I swear they outnumber your Guard. Are so many needed to protect your Chantry? I had though of visiting it."

"Why go there?" Isabela purred, "I thought you were planning a night of debauchery at _The Blooming Rose_."

Nigel chuckled. "Can't one do both? It may surprise you to learn that I am a devoted follower of Andraste, and I would like to ask for the Grand Cleric's blessing. I had actually only _planned_ on having dinner and having a bath, though I know a simple plan like that quite often leads to debauchery of some sort if Captain Jack is the one making the arrangements."

Hawke was about to reply, when his name was shouted from up the stairs behind them. He noticed the prince step into the shadow of a pillar as one hand casually went to the hilt of a fighting dagger, while the other slipped to his belt, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he had a smoke bomb at the ready. His mabari was also instantly on alert, hunkered down and ready to charge, and Bob quickly followed his lead.

But Hawke recognized the voice. "Yes, Seneschal?" He explained, to put the prince at ease, "That's the late Viscount Dumar's senschal, who handles the city's administration for Meredith, for now." That was, until Meredith found an excuse to replace him with one of her own.

"I see." Nigel stepped from the shadows, though a subtle gesture told Owain to remain where he was. A slender, well dressed, red-haired man in his late thirties, accompanied by two aides, approached them at a clip, taking the stairs two at a time.

The man composed himself as best he could when he reached them, though perspiration was staining the underarms of his fine silks, his face was mottled red, and he was trying not to show that he was having trouble catching his breath. Nonetheless, he managed a note of censure in his voice when he spoke. "Hawke. I've...just been...informed that...is this..."

He gulped another breath and bowed deeply to the fair-haired man in fashionable but horribly dreary black silk and linen, recognizing him from drawings of him and his growling mabari he had seen in an account of The Blight. "Forgive me, Your Highness, for not greeting you officially, but I have only just been informed that you had graced us with a visit."

Hawke didn't conceal a frown at both Bran's tone and the use of his name, rather than title. He knew that Bran tolerated him because of his position as Champion and his service to the city. His mother had been warmly received by the residents of Hightown when they reclaimed her family home, but he had been considered by many of their neighbors an up-jumped Fereldan, tolerated by old acquaintances of his mother for her sake and because he had made himself useful.

But that was before he saved them by dueling the Arishok. Meredith had no choice but to give in to the grateful crowd and proclaim him the newest Champion of Kirkwall. Suddenly he was someone worth noticing, and everyone wanted The Champion at their event, except for a few holdouts like Bran.

Meredith had created quite a commotion before he arrived, and Bran must have sent someone to discover the cause. Bran was probably also put out that Hawke hadn't informed him of his royal summons, but Hawke had to admit he was justified in that. Hawke made the requisite introductions quickly and quietly, so as not to attract any more attention to the prince than they already had.

Nigel nodded in acknowledgment and smiled warmly as he offered Bran his hand. "There is nothing to forgive, Seneschal; the fault was mine entirely in not announcing my arrival. In my defense, this is a brief, unplanned stop on my journey to Orlais. We were caught in a storm and plan to set sail tonight as soon as my ship is repaired. However, I had met your Guard Captain in the King's camp before the battle of Ostagar." He smiled again and added a white lie. "I also passed some time in Lothering, where the Champion used to live, and so I thought I would send them a note and catch up with them while I was here, for old times' sake."

Hawke raised an eyebrow at the lie, but he understood the prince's reason of making it appear, for the sake of decorum, that he was only making a brief visit to old friends.

Bran shot Hawke an accusatory look, as if he still thought Hawke had concealed the prince's presence to embarrass him. "Nevertheless, it is only proper, now that I know, that I arrange some sort of reception for you while you are here, Your Highness."

Nigel concealed a sigh. He wanted desperately to get to Hawke's estate so he could learn everything he could about their encounter with Zev. Now he would be forced to put up with all the pomp and circumstance he had hoped to avoid. "I would be honored; however, we must resume our voyage to Orlais as soon as the ship is repaired and the tide allows."

Nevertheless, it occurred to him that making his presence in the city public knowledge now might now stay Meredith's hand if she was plotting something. "Perhaps you might arrange a small affair with a select number of guests? Perhaps at, what was was that place the captain recommended we go for dinner, the _Blushing Rose?_"

Bran blushed crimson, his face a match for a rose. Nigel wondered why he found that so attractive on redheaded women, thinking of Captain Vallen and her lovely green eyes, and not on men, as Bran sputtered, "Your Highness, that's nothing more than a fancy brothel!"

Nigel put his hand to his mouth and said in feigned shock, "It is not an inn frequented by the nobility? Oh my! Whatever would I have done if you hadn't told me!"

Hawke decided to save them all from whatever tedious affair Bran was planning. "I would be honored to host a small _soiree_ at my estate, no more than a dozen guests or so. Surely you agree there's no time to arrange a banquet or a ball. Can you see to it, Bran? Perhaps a few noble families, and Aveline and Donnic." Hawke hid his pleasure at putting Bran on the spot, and offering his estate, as spacious as it was, would force Bran to keep the guest list small.

"We can have musicians on the second floor foyer for entertainment. If we move the furniture and place chairs along the walls, I suppose there would be room for couples to dance, if they're so inclined. Of course, _you_ must attend and bring a date. What's her name, Serendipity?" Hawke knew very well through overhearing Varric's gossip with Isabela that Bran frequented the _Rose, _and more than once Anders' clinic as a result, and that these days he saw the elven courtesan regularly.

Nigel put his hand on Bran's shoulder and smiled brightly. "Wonderful, small but elegant! And you must come and bring Serendipity. Such an enchanting name! I simply cannot wait to meet her!"

Nigel studied the reaction on the seneschal's face to determine the game Hawke was playing with him. He hadn't missed the use of Hawke's surname, either. While he had noticed that 'Bela and Hawke's friends did the same, he could tell after only a moment that the seneschal and Hawke weren't at all friendly. There was also something more—had he a wife, perhaps? But in that case, Hawke wouldn't have suggested bringing a date. Perhaps Serendipity was a courtesan, or his mistress. And now the seneschal knew that Hawke knew. "_Well played,_" Nigel thought.

He kept his brightest smile focused on Bran, who wasn't bad looking, though his attractiveness was diminished because he was so clearly out of shape. "Or come alone, my dear Seneschal, and I will have you _all_ to myself. I will send word to the Arl and Arlessa of Redcliffe, who are traveling with me, to join us, as well as the captain of my ship. My royal marines can serve as guards, though perhaps you might also arrange to hire some of your city guard. Oh, and this will give me an opportunity to meet your Grand Cleric too! Naturally, you must also not forget to invite your _delightful_ Knight-Commander and Knight-Captain Cullen, whom I also know from Fereldan." By having the seneschal make arrangements and inviting the _de facto_ ruler of the city-state and her second, Nigel was well aware that the event would now be an official state visit, and the cost would fall primarily upon Kirkwall, and not on Hawke.

Acting as if it was an afterthought, he added, "Perhaps you could invite some of the Kirkwallers who have so generously employed and given aid to the Fereldans who sought refuge here, so I might thank them personally?" Nigel thought he might be overplaying his hand, though Bran still appeared to be engrossed in making a mental list of whom to invite.

Bran blinked at Nigel and flushed crimson again. "Of course, Your Highness."

"Ooh, a party!" Isabela squealed, clapping her hands together under her chin. "What will I wear? We need to send word to Varric and Fenris and the others too! Let's see...can we break out your mother's best? And we need lots and lots of flowers, and we should hang some Fereldan banners to honor the prince. But I bet the ship has banners, and flags too! Oh, and we need to get more help. Orana and Bodhan can't do it all themselves!"

Nigel turned his attention to the Rivaini beauty, and stroked his chin with his thumb and index finger as he examined her. "Something red with a sweeping skirt, and cut low enough to display your _considerable_ assets, my darling Isabela. Wouldn't you agree, Champion? I'd say velvet, but it might be too warm. And you must wear your hair up off that lovely face."

Isabela squealed, "Ooh, I have just the dress. I never have the chance to wear it! I hope it still fits!"

Hawke felt himself flush guiltily because he had always assumed Isabela wouldn't have any interest in such an event. "You're right, love. Bodhan can arrange to hire help for the evening, leaving him free to supervise, and Orana can go with Sandal to buy flowers then help you dress."

Nigel clasped Bran's hand again and gazed into his eyes. "I really don't wish to put you out. Around seven then, after dinner? Shall we have a simple affair, wines and cheeses, and polite conversation? There's an excellent Fereldan sausage and cheese maker I discovered here in Lowtown this morning. We might offer the guests Fereldan delicacies, as well as your own." He gave Bran's assistant the address and was getting hungry again thinking about his delicious breakfast.

"_Fereldan delicacies_?" Bran hadn't caught that at first because he had been trying to decide whether the prince was flirting with him, and trying harder not to react. Bran tried unsuccessfully to hide his opinion. "But of course, Your Highness."

Nigel was impressed that Bran recovered nicely. "I would also be willing to hold a private audience with some invitees in exchange for a donation to help Fereldan refugees here. I would do more for them myself, but we are still recovering from the Blight. However, the reception should end early enough that we can still catch the tide, though I suppose we could catch the morning tide."

Nigel released his hand, and Bran bowed deeply again, anxious to begin making preparations for what he considered far too small of an event, which he feared would make the nobles whisper about the impropriety of it, and lay the blame on him. But it occurred to him that if Meredith refused to attend, the blame could be shifted to her, via rumor, and that pleased him more than he knew it should. It had been too long since a foreign head of state had visited Kirkwall; since the Arishok, truth be told, as if he had counted. They had already drawn the attention of a few nobles and servants, and he knew the word was going to spread through Hightown like fire through an abandoned mine.

"If you will excuse me, Your Highness, I have much to do." He lowered his eyes and backed away the requisite number of steps for decorum before he turned his back on the prince, and trudged back up the stairs with his assistants taking orders, traveling not nearly as quickly as he had moved down them.

Nigel summoned Owain to him with a glance and a slight inclination of his chin, and he immediately bounded over, startling an eavesdropping couple who hadn't noticed him behind them in the shadows. "I assume you heard? Find the captain at the brothel, though Teagan and Bella may still be at the book seller with Messere Tethras, so go there first and let them know. Lastly, you and Ianto are to bring the dragon chest to the Champion's estate, but get a couple of the marines to carry it for you."

Owain screwed up his face and cocked his head. "Huh. The dragon chest for a wine and cheese reception?" That chest held Nigel's dragon hide armor crafted by Master Wade, among other things. It took him a moment to realize his prince was trying to send a message, and having witnessed the contempt in which Fereldans were held in this stony, stinking city, it became clear. "As you wish, Your Highness. It'll be good practice for us in Orais, won't it?" And it would be a good excuse to spend the evening showing the fair Iolanthe how proper a courtier he could be.

"Indeed it will. Off you go." Nigel watched him trot down the remaining stairs then turn at the courtyard that led to the market, dodging people on the stairs as nimbly as a young cat.

Isabela watched him too and squeezed both Nigel's and Hawke's forearms. "Nice ass on that lanky boy. I _like_ lanky. He's as lanky as you, love, or Fenris, or you too, Your Highness. Tell me, have you...?"

Nigel shook his head. "I do like lanky too, but I never will with anyone in service to me."

Hawke took a step forward to steer them towards his home. "I agree. The power is unbalanced in such a relationship. We have a servant whom we rescued from Tevinter mages. She had been their slave, and as her owner was dead, I offered her a job and home here. But I learned later that the poor girl had expected me to crawl into her bed. She assumed that was why she had been given a room of her own. She finally asked Bodhan when nothing happened if she had displeased me. It took him some time of reassuring her until she believed him that she hadn't, and still longer for 'Bela to convince her that no one had a right to join her in her bed unless it was by her invitation."

"Bodhan told her the master was an honorable man. Poor girl didn't understand the concept, having come from Tevinter." Isabela inclined her head and shot Hawke a look that was scolding, but approving at the same time. "I was annoyed when she followed him home. I admit I was jealous too. I would have told her she was free, and sent her off with a pouch of coins to start a new life, and called it good." She slipped her arm around Hawke fondly as they walked. "But he was right. It didn't take me long to understand how truly innocent Orana was, despite all she'd been through. She would have become easy prey for the elves' Dread Wolf."

Nigel was about to say that he didn't believe the Dread Wolf was nearly as bad as he was reputed, when Hawke nodded at a door set in a stone alcove. "Here we are. I'll show you to a room you can use to bathe and refresh yourself, Your Highness."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Champion; however, I insist on helping you prepare, at least until Seneschal Bran takes over and I have to be the prince again. I really want to hear everything you can tell me about my Zev while we work." He tried not to sound too desperate.

"Of course, Your Highness." Hawke fumbled with the key and stood back to let the prince and 'Bela enter.

Nigel began unfastening his doublet. "I was thinking when I heard that name, surely it couldn't be that the same Bodhan who traveled with us, now lived with you, until you mentioned sending Sandal for flowers. It's very strange, don't you think? I can tell you a story about that lad appearing out of nowhere in the tower at Fort Drakon, surrounded by dead darkspawn, that will raise the hair on the back of your neck!"

Hawke chuckled. "The lad surrounded by dead darkspawn, including an ogre? I can relate a similar tale that took place in the Deep Roads when he wandered off during our expedition."

"Enchantment, no doubt? I cannot wait to hear it! It will be good to see them again, won't it, Buddy?"

The mabari barked in happy agreement, vigorously wiggling his backside, echoed by Hawke's mabari Bob as they walked into the foyer.

A heartbeat later, a familiar dwarven voice said, "You're back, Messere!" A moment later as he looked up he gasped, "Look, Sandal, come look! It's the master with the Hero of Ferelden too!" He bowed deeply then stepped aside. "It's a pleasure to see you again!"

A soft, familiar voice behind him cried excitedly, "Warden? Bob! Buddy!" Both dogs barked as they ran in and began licking Sandal's face, and he threw his arms around them and exclaimed, "Oh, I like the doggies!"

A short time later, Bodahn gone to the Alienage to invite Merrill, and on the recommendation of Hawke's neighbor's housekeeper, to hire her cousins and sister, and then to Lirine's shop in Lowtown to invite her and hire some Fereldan musicians and servers, letting Lirine be his guide. Orana and Sandal, escorted by the mabaris, had gone to the market in search of flowers. Hawke explained after they left how difficult it had been at first getting Orana to leave the house, unless she was sent out with a specific purpose. "Poor woman rarely even spends her pay. Having coin of her own was another difficult concept to grasp, although 'Bela has gotten her to go shopping with her in Lowtown."

Hawke and 'Bela had quickly changed into something more practical. Nigel had folded his doublet neatly across the back of a chair and removed his shirt and his weapon belt. He was glad for having the task of hauling and pushing furniture between rooms and against the walls to focus on while they talked, or rather, while he listened as 'Bela talked, occasionally interrupted or corrected by Hawke. He said little other than to ask for details of how Zev looked.

As they placed a few last chairs against the wall, Nigel finally said, "I'm not at all surprised that Zev was several steps ahead of the Crows. This Nuncio certainly hadn't done his research when he approached you if he didn't know that 'Bela was an old friend of Zev's. That betrays a level of carelessness that belies the Crows' reputation."

He looked up thoughtfully as he shook out his hair, which had come loose from the ribbon with which he had bound it, and finger-combed it. "In fact, if I know my Zev, he let Nuncio's squad chase him here to make it easier to dispatch them, but also, I suspect, because he found it amusing. They are so bound by their rules and traditions that they didn't appreciate how clever he is and how valuable an asset he was. Perhaps there is only so far an elf is allowed to rise in their ranks."

"As it is with too many guilds." Isabela looked around in concentration and shook her head then switched two of the chairs and nodded to herself.

Nigel rebound his hair. "To their detriment. I think that makes four guild masters and their underlings Zev has killed that I know of. If I hadn't offered to marry the queen to end the civil war, I would have gone with him after we destroyed the archdemon, fighting at his side until he was free. Together we might have ruled the Crows by now. He always said he would like to make me the Queen of Antiva, and the Crows are the real power in Antiva."

"You would have become an assassin?" Hawke was incredulous. He could understand the elf, who had been a child and little more than a slave when he was bought by the Crows, but surely the Hero of Ferelden had many other options. And he was a devoted follower of Andraste?

Nigel shrugged. "The part of being an assassin I don't like is that there can be a price on anyone if someone else has the coin, deserved or not, but I came to agree with Zev that some people deserve assassinating. Sometimes great harm is done and justice never comes, and so others have to see to it."

Isabela stood back to assess the room, and to deflect the conversation from becoming an argument. "Hawke, we need something that can serve as a throne. Either of these two chairs would do, but it's too bad we don't have one of those platform things to set one on."

Nigel followed her line of sight and nodded approvingly. "A dais. Good eye, but probably impossible to acquire at this hour."

Hawke paused to wipe his brow on the sleeve of his shirt. He marveled that just when he thought he had Isabela figured out, she still managed to surprise him. He hadn't even noticed how she had deflected the conversation. "Indeed, and there's serviceable dais below in one of the storerooms. My uncle said that the head slaver who used to live here fancied himself a noble and would hold court over his minions and those in debt to him, like my uncle. It might be heavy though, so it can wait until Bran's men arrive to bring it up."

Isabela continued her musings. "Bodhan can announce the guests. He has the voice for it, I think, unless Bran has his own person. Hawke and I should come down first, and then your captain and officers and your ship's doctor, then your arls a few minutes later, and finally, after enough time for anticipation to build, you, with your hound and your lanky young men and guards following behind you, like the leader of your pack."

Nigel threw his head back and laughed. "I can see it, Buddy at my side and the rest of my hounds following. It isn't often that I get to hold High Court by myself without the queen."

Hawke raised his arms above his head and stretched as he looked up the stairs. Nigel watched him appreciatively out of the corner of his eye, while Isabela watched him openly then smiled seductively as she caught Nigel. Hawke gave her a kiss on the cheek before addressing Nigel. "I can hear in your voice that you miss her."

Nigel turned to meet his eyes. "You sound surprised, Champion. I do, in fact. Though our union began as a political alliance between the Teyrnirs of Highever and Gwaren, we've grown closer over the years, and not only because of our young brood. I have come to care for her as a friend, and I'm thoroughly convinced of the wisdom of putting her on the throne over my friend, King Maric's son Alistair." He shrugged. "I have even come to adore as my queen, but I also love her as my wife, in my fashion."

"Yet your heart belongs to another." Flushing because he thought he was being rude, Hawke added, "Forgive me, Your Highness. I go too far. Love is a rare thing in a political union, or in many unions, for that matter. I can appreciate the sacrifice you made."

Nigel sighed and looked towards one of the high windows, as if looking towards her in Ferelden. "She knew what I was when she agreed with me that the best solution was that we should be married. There's nothing to forgive, Champion. Sacrifice. It's all part of being a Grey Warden. Do whatever it takes to stop a blight. _In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice." _He paused and closed his eyes for a moment after repeating the motto before he continued.

He turned back to Hawke. "I understand your younger brother is a Warden because he was tainted in the Deep Roads. He survived the Joining, though you should know the ritual doesn't save the victim's life as much as put off the inevitable death. What they also don't mention that what life is left to you, either before the taint turns you into a ghoul, or you die on the end of a darkspawn blade in the Deep Roads, is often a life of sacrifice as well. Zev understood and accepted what I had to do. He actually enjoys causing a bit of royal scandal when he comes to visit, though he's helped the queen on several occasions, and they have developed a mutual respect. But he's also had to sacrifice."

Hawke looked down. Both Flemeth and Anders had said becoming a Gray Warden was the only way to survive being tainted. Carver had never mentioned that it was only a brief reprieve from death in his infrequent letters, but surely he knew. He also could infer that those who were tainted when they undertook the Joining would be unlikely to survive as long as those recruits who had not been.

He sighed. "Poor Carver. All he ever wanted to do was make a name for himself, out from under his big brother's shadow. It was a point of contention between us. I thought becoming a Gray Warden was just the thing for him, but even though he insisted on joining the Deep Roads expedition against our mother's wishes, he still blamed me for his fate."

"That falls under the heading of being careful what one wishes for, doesn't it? When Duncan came to Highever seeking recruits, I overheard him telling Father he was interested in me, and even implied he could conscript me if need be. My father begged him not to, even if he had the right, and he relented. I was resentful, and spent the evening drinking and sulking until a handsome boy took my mind off it. And then when Rendon Howe's men attacked in the middle of the night, conscription was the price Duncan charged for sneaking me to safety. I went from no choice to...no choice, now that I think about it. Still, I never blamed Fergus for being first born or for my being the spare who had to stay safely out of the battle. No offense, but your brother sounds like a bit of a tit."

It was shocking to hear the prince use the same term to describe Carver that Aveline had. Hawke was about to sputter a reply when they were interrupted by a commotion in the foyer of barking dogs and Sandal calling out, "Look!Flowers smell pretty! Doggies like the flowers. Doggies like meat pies too!"

Sandal and Orana entered, their arms full of bundles of a colorful variety of flowers. Orana set her bundles on a table and lowered her gaze to the floor. "Bob and the other dog were hungry, so I bought them meat pies too with your money. I hope you don't mind, Master." The dogs followed, still licking their chops.

Hawke smiled kindly at her. "No, of course I don't mind. Do you think you can arrange those, Orana? I'll help you get out Mother's crystal vases." Hawke picked up the bundles and led them out of the room, deep in thought about Carver, but also about what sacrifices he might have to make if 'Bela decided she wanted to go back to sea, now that she had a ship. Might she sacrifice her freedom for him? Or would he sacrifice love and his own happiness for the people here who had come to depend on him, and would they even notice, or appreciate it? Judging by the invitations he regularly received to come to some noble's dinner or party and meet a daughter or niece, he knew the answer.

Isabela reached over and pushed aside Nigel's hair above his ear. "Is that Zev's prized earring? He wouldn't even let anyone touch it for fear it might come loose, or it might be stolen. I noticed he wasn't wearing it when we saw him, but we were too busy to ask what happened to it."

Nigel brushed his fingertip across hers. "He offered it to me one night. I refused him at first. I asked him why, and he had no answer, so told him I would only accept it if the act meant something. I don't know why I laid down that ultimatum. Our affair had been boyish fun before that night, but then suddenly, it was more. He stalked off and refused to share my tent, but after a few lonely nights for both of us, he came to me and offered it again. Under the light of the full moon, and in the sight of the Maker, we joined our hands and our hearts then, though I think we knew very well it couldn't last."

Hawke returned, still pensive, and caught the end of the conversation, the prince's words uncomfortably echoing his own relationship with 'Bela. "Does anything last? My poor 'Bela has had to live with the knowledge that Meredith might have me hauled off to the tower at any time, and that's the best scenario. She could have me made tranquil or even executed, once she decides I'm no longer useful." He couldn't give voice to his other fears.

Isabela forced a smile and put her arms around Hawke, reading his thoughts in his face. This conversation was again becoming far too serious for her liking. She gave him a kiss then looked around the room again as she rubbed his back. "It will do until the flags and banners arrive." She wrinkled her nose. "_Someone_ else needs a bath and a nap too, but I don't want to trouble poor Orana with fetching more bath water. Maybe we should all go to the _Rose_ for a bath and a bite instead."

Nigel's stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of food, and he flushed in embarrassment. "It's one side-effect of the taint—all my appetites have increased. It's a joke among the Gray Wardens. They say nothing at dinner and then sit back and watch as the new recruits ravenously devour everything they can get their hands on, and then they all have a good laugh when the recruits realized what pigs they've made of themselves."

It was Hawke's turn to flush, though it wasn't as noticeable on his tanned skin. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I'm a poor host. I haven't even offered you water! Perhaps we should go out. I don't know if there's anything to be had in the kitchen."

Nigel shook his head. "Now I'm really putting you out. I've gotten used to courtiers who have been trained to have a bit of this or that ready for me at any moment so that my stomach's rumbling doesn't embarrass the queen. I'm fine with bread and cheese, or even just bread."

Orana entered slowly, carrying a vase containing a spray of spring flowers—tulips, daffodils, and hyacinths—and placed it on one of the tables. She took another vase of roses from Sandal, who had followed her even more slowly, grasping the vase with both hands. "I already put more water on, Mistress, in case you wanted to bathe again. I also made a vegetable stew this morning when you got back. Let me serve you."

"You have enough to do with the flowers, and helping me squeeze into that red gown in the back of my wardrobe. I can carry the water for His Highness." Isabela give Nigel a lusty look and considered offering to wash his back, or perhaps the enchanting possibility of his and Hawke's at the same time, but she surprised herself by deciding she had far too much to do and not nearly enough time to do it. "Come, Your Highness, let me show you the kitchen."

Orana's vegetable stew was simple but deliciously spiced. Hawke was surprised how hungry he was as he and Nigel devoured a bowl, and Nigel had another and half a loaf of bread. Nigel complimented the shy elf on her way through as they ate. She blushed and stammered her thanks before taking another vase of flowers out. "She really is sweet. I can understand why you worry about her."

Hawke had poured them one of his best wines, but they had both been drinking water. "Indeed, if anything were to happen to me after Bodhan and Sandal go to Orlais as they plan, I worry what will become of her. I think we both know 'Bela won't let me go without a fight. We've instructed her to head for 'Bela's ship if it's in port, or to one of my other companions, who lives in a house not far from here. Fenris is also a former Tevinter slave, though I don't know how much help he would be. He tells her she should stop thinking like a slave and make decisions for herself, as if it was that simple."

"It never is." Nigel stretched then stood and put his bowl in the sink. "If anything should happen to you, I will offer her a job in Ferelden at the palace. You are right. She would be easy prey for anyone looking for someone to exploit. We can talk to her later, and I'll give her a letter to keep to make it official. You said she's a different person if she has a purpose."

Isabela burst in and quaffed Hawke's goblet of wine. "A group of sailors and soldiers just arrived, with your chest and a chest of flags and banners your lanky boy told them to bring. I'll have to show them where to hang them. The water upstairs on the hearth should be hot enough. You two can share a bath, and I'll put on more water for myself later."

"I can get that, love." Hawke chuckled after she gave him a peck on the cheek, drank Nigel's wine, and bustled back out. He stood and bowed. "If you will follow me, Your Highness."

Nigel followed Hawke up the back stairs. "In Orzamar, the dwarves use pipes made of stone and copper to bring heated water to their baths. It runs inside channels in the stone from the lava, but I suppose it wouldn't work here. When we were on the run and gathering our forces to fight the darkspawn, we washed off the filth and the blood wherever we stopped to make camp, even in the winter. It was quite a change from my life in Highever. On one especially frigid day I asked Wynne, a senior enchanter from Ferelden's Circle who had joined us, if she didn't have a spell to heat water. I got the scolding of my life! It was like my mother was with me again." He sighed wistfully.

Hawke was about to agree about the waste of spell power, though he regularly used a flame spell for that very purpose, being careful that he was never seen using magic, as his father had instructed him. But hearing the ache in the prince's voice as he mentioned his mother made his heart ache for his. "That's a wound that never quite heals, does it. That's mine's room there." He indicated a closed door they passed in the hallway. "I still can't bear to go into Mother's room, though it's been years since she was murdered. At least I got to hold her as she died. Orana dusts it for me, but not when I'm home."

Nigel glanced at the door. "It's the same when I visit Highever. The night his forces attacked, Rendon Howe was having drinks with my father, and then left with a gut wound because he wanted him to die slowly and witness his coup. Father was too badly injured to stand, and so Mother chose to die beside him, rather than escape with me and Duncan. I only had time for a last embrace before we slipped out a scullery door where the servants took the refuse. At least I had that much. The hardest part for me was seeing the fires and hearing the screams of our people as we fled. I had never felt so helpless, never could have imagined before then how cruel people could be."

Hawke led the way into a room with a large stone tub. He put on gloves and lifted the kettle off the hearth and poured it in. "I imagine we've both seen enough cruelty for ten lifetimes." He hung the kettle over the pump and filled it with more water, then put that over the fire as Nigel pumped cool water into the tub. Hawke motioned Nigel back, then giving him an embarrassed grin, spoke a word of magic, and a tongue of flame shot from his hands into the water.

Nigel smirked at him and removed the rest of his clothes. "Morrigan, the apostate who traveled with us, sometimes used that same spell. Wynne would shake her head and mutter, and I think Morrigan did it just to provoke her. I can only imagine what Flemeth would have said if she had seen her do it." He nodded at the water as he pumped in more water and checked the temperature. "Don't stand on ceremony."

Hawke blushed again and quickly stripped off his work clothes and slid into the other end of the large tub. "Morrigan? I've heard that name before. I knew there were rumors that one of the mages who helped you was an apostate, but I had no idea it was Flemeth's daughter!" He handed Nigel a bar of soap and told him about his rescue and subsequent task for Flemeth, ending with the ritual on Sundermount.

Nigel spared only a cursory glance at Hawke's lean, hairy body as he joined him and didn't seem surprised by his tale. He related his own experience with Flemeth, beginning with her safekeeping of the Warden treaties, and his and Alistair's own timely rescue, up to Morrigan's gruesome discovery and his promise that he would kill Flemeth to save her. "It seemed such a hideous thing to do, to groom a _daughter_ as a host for when your present body gave out, that I agreed to help her. Yet even as we fought and killed her, I remembered Flemeth's words before about it being an old dance she knew well. Even though that dragon looked dead, I think I knew in my heart she had a contingency plan, and now I know she did. I wonder if she is looking for Morrigan now, or if she's found another candidate for possession."

"I'd guess from what I've heard that your Witch of the Wilds knew all along what would happen, far before she rescued either of you. Maybe she has a way of seeing the future, so she knew who to rescue. She wouldn't have lived for as long as you think she has without being at least ten steps ahead of everyone else." Both men looked towards the door. Isabela dropped her work tunic and stood there naked, arms folded, watching them with a bemused expression. Neither of them had even heard her come in.

She swayed over to the tub and ran her fingers through the water. "I thought I should warn you that the first of Bran's men have arrived. I have set some to hanging banners and flags, while yours are following my orders about where to put your things. I figured I'd better join you before the rest of the help arrives, while there is still time. Pity there isn't more of _that_." It was said in a decisive way that let the men know that if there had been time, 'Bela would have had her way.

She winked at Hawke and slipped in the middle between them, then accepted the soap from Hawke and turned to Nigel. "Remember that night we met, when you walked in to the Pearl like you owned it, killed those assassins in their own trap, and stopped to watch me dueling on your way out?"

Nigel poured fresh cold water over his head before he answered. "Three on one wasn't sporting, but it only took me a moment to figure out that you could handle yourself. I watched because you had intriguing moves the likes of which I'd never seen. Once your opponents ran off, Leliana and Alistair urged me to leave before more of Howe's thugs arrived, but I just had to ask about your style. Leliana also seemed more interested in your _moves_ than she intended to let on. And then Zev whispered that he knew you, and so I had the opportunity to ask for an introduction."

'Bela leaned back and smiled. "Ah yes, the delicious Sister Nightingale. She and that red hair of hers caught my eye more than you did, but I appreciated your sincere interest in my style. And then you made your wicked counter-proposal to my offer of a game of Wicked Grace."

He chuckled. "How could I resist? Besides, I pointed out that you had a ship that we could use to escape if need be. Zev wouldn't have minded staying around for more slaughter, nor would I, if it had meant hurting Howe, but Zev liked my proposal even better. He had been flirting with me for weeks, but I had been aloof because I hadn't trusted him, and I still didn't entirely."

Isabela laughed lewdly. "That look on his face when you bound him to that beam in my cabin and told him he got to watch..."

It was Nigel's turn to chuckle. "I saw something in Leliana's eyes while watching you that told me no man would ever truly satisfy her, so I whispered taunts to him instead as we watched."

He grew serious. "Then I saw something in Zev's eyes that told me I was being cruel, but he was long resigned to cruelty. It touched my heart, even if he had tried to assassinate Alistair and I. Then you taunted me in turn by asking Leliana if she thought I was going to be satisfied with torturing poor Zev, or if she thought we should entertain you."

She leaned forward. "Your response was most entertaining indeed, the way you grabbed his hair and pulled his head back then kissed him hard. You certainly got big a reaction out of him, and then you said something like 'I've seen bigger,' though that didn't stop you from _manhandling_ him."

Nigel leaned his head back against the side of the tub, closed his eyes and sighed. "I recall you did like euphemisms. I still can hear his gasp of surprise, and then pleasure, like it was yesterday. I wished I hadn't bound his hands so he could run his fingers through my hair and caress my face, but having him helpless added to the excitement."

"For both of you. And you were so very entertaining. There's something about two young, fit men kissing that always did it for me. But you did more than kiss. I heard him whisper, 'Marvelous! I see you've done this before,' and you stopped and threatened to gag him, except that would have made it difficult for him to...polish your scepter after you finished him. Ah, but then I had a beautiful redhead that needed my attention."

Hawke reached for a towel. "I...ah, should go see how the preparations are progressing."

Isabela winked as she grabbed his hand and slipped inside his arm. "Don't run away, love, there's no time for sex anyway." She smiled at Nigel. "He gets uncomfortable talking about my past lovers."

Hawke frowned in consternation, knowing his love could also be very jealous. "You burned that letter from Peaches from Lothering, and she was Carver's girl, not mine, and I recall you getting jealous when I was helping Merrill with her roof." He didn't even get in to her accusation one time that there was something more than friendship with Aveline.

Nigel moved further away out of courtesy to his host. "I'm tired from our introduction to templar hospitality in the middle of the night, and from Jack after, so I'd much rather have a nap before my performance tonight." As an afterthought he added, "Besides, technically my dear Isabela, we _weren't_ lovers, unless you count kissing and fondling. We just happened to have had sex with another person in the same room."

Isabela chuckled then gave Hawke another kiss. "True enough, and Peaches certainly _wrote_ like she knew you pretty well, Hawke. But where was I? The only one who didn't join us was your friend Alistair, who sat up on deck in the cold with your dog. He isn't still a virgin, is he? What a waste! He was too busy going about Warden business with Carver, and we were too busy fighting Qunari the last time we saw him to go over old times."

Nigel yawned before he answered. "He hasn't said anything in his letters, but then I don't think he would kiss and tell, being a good Chantry-raised boy. Perhaps not anymore, now that he's with the Wardens in Orlais. As I said, all of our appetites increase with the taint. Perhaps the subject will come up when we get there. I'm fortunate that my Warden duty gives me the opportunity to avoid the empress's hospitality while I'm in Val Royeaux. The Orlesian thing to do would be to hold me hostage in the palace as a _guest_ and then wait for Anora's reaction."

"And the Kirkwaller thing to do would be to lock you up in the Gallows until your queen returns those mages, as far as Meredith is concerned. It probably hasn't even occurred to her that you've arrived on a warship." Hawke reached for the towel with his free hand and covered himself modestly as he stood. "We really should see about the preparations, love."

Nigel stood and grabbed his own towel and stepped out to dry himself. "Pity you're not the Viscount, Champion. Despite being a templar, Meredith has little battle experience, other than fighting the Qunari. She thinks that channel into the city would protect it from our warships. That might be true, if we were to make a direct approach, and Kirkwall had catapults and cannons on the cliffs. Anora would quickly learn all she could about Kirkwall and its infrastructure, then land a squad of marines and a few of my lanky boys at night at one of the smugglers' coves to come in the back door, as it were, and free me, while our fleet bombards Hightown. And that gives me an idea about escaping Meredith's ire. " He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist then stretched and yawned again. "I think I could do with a nap for an hour or two."

"Let me show you to your room, Your Highness." Hawke was taken aback again by how quickly a plan of attack came to the prince's mind, as well as his certainty of how the queen would react. He was not what he appeared to be, and it occurred to him that was deliberate, so that people would forget his deeds that made him the Hero of Ferelden. And he knew the prince had already figured out his next steps to make sure that didn't happen, and that he and Isabela were part of the plan.

And he was right. Nigel paused as he was about to open the door. "There's still a place in Denerim for both of you, Champion. I've discussed with Anora having letters of marque drafted in case of war, authorizing ship captains to take on any Orlesian ships they encounter."

"Me, a privateer. It's an interesting thought, and Hawke could be my battle mage, like the Qunari have." 'Bela leaned back in the tub and watched them dry themselves, making Hawke blush again, and then she stepped out and stretched languidly. "I think I'll throw on a robe until it's time to dress. Maybe I will see if Orana can put my hair up too, as you suggested."

Nigel shook his head. "Oh no. I insist that you leave your beautiful black tresses to me, my dear."


End file.
